Aftermath
by Shezzly
Summary: COMPLETED. Voldemort is dead, but Harry is still haunted by their final battle. In the end, he finds it's Ginny who he can really turn to - and things progress from there. Also R&HG. Expect fluff, twins and trips to London...
1. Remembering

Whoops, forgot all about this first part. Well, here you go:

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. No, honest. Straight up. I know it's hard to believe. I'm still getting over the shock myself … Hmm, seriously though, I don't own him or the HP world or the characters – only my little plot. I am making no money from this, either. In fact I am _spending_ money on internet dial-up. So, *Let's move it along*… enjoy. ~no more 3x5s~ Shezzly

~

Harry woke up on a spongy mattress in Ron Weasley's room, and remembered. 

He remembered the darkness. He remembered Voldemort's fiery eyes. He remembered the skeletal body, the reptilian skin. He remembered the pain of _Crucio_, the loss of _Imperio_. He remembered reeling from a dozen other curses, ones he'd never heard of, and then the terrible, green light of his _Avada Kedavra_. 

He remembered and remembered and remembered, in the sudden awareness of what had passed the previous term that came to him every morning. 

He remembered Tonks falling, Lupin attempting to follow, but blocked on all sides by Death Eaters. 

He remembered Lupin's anguish as he died, the way he called out names, as though in apology: "Tonks! Harry! Sirius! Tonks!" 

He remembered Ron standing in front of a wounded Hermione, brandishing his wand, with a look on his face that Harry had never seen before – a steadfastness, a fury – and Hermione's tears. 

And he remembered Dumbledore, struck down at the last, and now lying in a hospital bed at St Mungo's, placid and thin, a paper-frail old man. 

It all swam through his head in the space of a few seconds, but a few seconds was enough. He preferred sleep – he never dreamed anymore, with the potions Madame Pomfrey had given him – because it was in his waking hours that he couldn't shut out his memories, or his depression, or his fear. 

Harry sat upright and pushed his covers away. Ron was still asleep in his bed, mutteringly gently, his hair sticking up in all directions. He envied Ron – while he had certainly been affected by the events preceding this summer, he had an uncanny knack for looking beyond his bad memories and straight to the good. He thought about Lupin and Tonks, even Sirius, as the people they had been, and the good things they'd done together – Harry tried to, but always ended up remembering their deaths, and his own inability to do _anything _to stop them_._

Besides, Ron had Hermione to take his mind off things. They'd been together since everything came to a head, and while in some respects they were the same old Ron and Mione – still fighting about the most ridiculous things – in other ways they were different. They were calmer, he supposed, and happier. Ron looked strangely content. Plus they were always sneaking off to snog – maybe that was it.  

Harry sighed, considered going back to sleep, and then decided against it. When he stood, the floor creaked, and Ron sat up with a start. 

"I don't wanna," he mumbled, eyes still half-closed. Then he opened them and saw Harry, who was half-smiling at him. 

"Oh. Morning, Harry," Ron said, starting a yawn. "Jeez, you're up ea-a-a-a-r-ly."

Harry shrugged. 

"Only just past dawn," Ron went on, looking out the window and scraping a hand through his hair. He lay down again. "Go back to bed, you prat."

"I'm right," Harry said. He was looking for his jeans. 

Ron watched him for a while, as though uncertain what to say, and then managed a tired: "Alright, then. I'm sleeping. 'Night."

Harry didn't say anything. He hated the occasional awkwardness between them. He hated that Ron was always choosing his words carefully so as not to upset him. And he didn't like being treated as though he had some kind of illness. 

_Everybody does the same_, he thought, angry now, as he pulled his jeans on. It was true. Everybody tiptoed around him, except for Fred and George – who he didn't think knew how to tiptoe – and the practical Ginny Weasley, who spoke to him just as though nothing had happened. 

No. Not as though nothing had happened. As though _something_ had happened, but he was still the same person despite it. 

He liked that about Ginny. She was so – dependable. 

Harry headed downstairs. It was very quiet in the Weasley house in the mornings these days. Even Mrs Weasley slept in, and most people just fetched their own breakfast whenever they liked. 

It was a far cry from the Dursley's, where he was lucky to even _get_ breakfast. Harry thanked Merlin that Professor McGonagall (Acting Headmistress) had suggested he go home with Ron for the summer. He was glad – he hadn't wanted to ask, actually. But when he'd told Ron, he'd just looked surprised and said: "Course you're coming home with us. What do you think we are?"

The kitchen was still quite dark – the day was going to be overcast, he thought, and the sun was only just rising. Harry made straight for the counter, where some of last night's dinner was sitting on a serving dish, wrapped in an anti-bacterial charm. He spooned some of the food – chicken, potatoes, spotted dick – onto a small plate, and then used his wand to heat it. He was about to take it outside when a voice made him jump

"Hi, Harry."

It took him a few moments before he saw Ginny. She was sitting at the end of the kitchen table, a half-eaten bowl of cereal in front of her. He didn't know why he hadn't noticed her before – he hadn't been paying attention, he supposed. 

"Morning, Ginny." He rejected the eating outside idea and went to sit beside her. 

"Sleep well?"

"Not too bad," he said honestly, digging in.  

"No bad dreams?"

He looked at her sharply. She looked right back. It wasn't one of the concerned, full-of-pity questions that frustrated him so much. It was just a question. 

"No," he said, still a little wary. "Madame Pomfrey gave me some dreamless sleep potion, so …"

He trailed off. Ginny nodded and went back to her breakfast. He did the same, but found himself watching her out of the corner of his eye. She'd cut her hair – it was shoulder length, now – and it fell about her face in soft waves. Her nose had more freckles across it than usual, now that it was summer, but it was oddly – endearing. 

He quickly focussed on his breakfast. Ginny was endearing overall, he thought. That was just the way she was. 

They finished their meals in silence. He was glad not to have to talk. When they were done, Ginny took their dishes to the sink and waved her wand at them. They promptly washed and dried themselves, and then put themselves away.   
Ginny smiled at him. He managed a smile back. 

"What are you going to do today?" she asked. 

Harry thought. He'd been at the Burrow two weeks so far, and had done a lot of wandering in the countryside. He'd also spent some time in Ron's room, reading old Chudley Cannons annuals, and played some half-hearted quidditch with Fred and George. He saw Ron and Hermione less than usual – they were constantly disappearing, or when they were around, spoke mostly to each other. Harry knew that they had had seven years of pretending they didn't fancy one another, and that there was – well, a lot of catching up to do. And he _did_ want to be alone quite often, so it worked out reasonably OK. 

Not that it didn't irk him, just a bit.

"Harry?" 

He started – he'd forgotten about her question. 

"I don't know," he said. "Might go for a walk."  

"We could go flying, if you wanted," she suggested. She sounded offhand, but she was facing the sink again, so he couldn't see her face. 

"Flying?"

"Mm. If you want."

He thought about it. Flying sounded fantastic. Still –

"Is your mum alright with you going off?" he asked uncertainly.

She turned to face him, half-smiling. "Mum's fine. She knows I'm OK. Besides, I won't be on my own – you'll be there."

"Right," he agreed. "Well, I'll go get my broom."

"Mine's out in the shed. I'll meet you there in ten minutes?"

"OK." 

She went out the kitchen door, and Harry took the stairs two at a time. He'd almost forgotten how good flying was – not just quidditch, but flying. He was suddenly itching to get up in the sky. 

In the corridor outside Ron's room, he banged directly into someone coming out of the bathroom. It was Hermione, wrapped in a dressing-gown. Her hair was wet. 

"Ow," she said irritably, and then looked up – Harry had gotten taller these last few years – and realised it was him. 

"Oh. Good morning, Harry."

"Morning," he said, and opened the door to Ron's room. She followed him. 

"Where are you going in such a hurry?" she asked. 

"Me and Ginny are going flying."

"Oh." 

Ron was struggling awake again. "Whozat? Whozere?" he was saying wildly. Hermione moved to sit on the end of his bed and poked him while Harry looked for his broom maintenance kit. 

"Hey," she said. "It's me."

He opened his eyes properly, and then grinned. "Hermione. You're on my bed. You hussy."

She slapped his arm lightly, and then looked at him with meaningful eyes. "Hey – Harry's going flying with Ginny."

"Really?" He looked pleased.

"Yeah," Harry said, clipping the ends of his broom, very business-like. 

"Well, good," Ron said. "Excellent." 

Hermione whispered something in his ear and he nodded.

"What's up with you two?" Harry said, a bit puzzled, and still not looking at them. He assumed it was some boyfriend-girlfriend thing. 

"Nothing," Ron said, trying to keep the smile off his face. "It's just good that you're – you know, getting out and all."

"Yes, Harry," Hermione said. "It's good to see you yourself."

He packed up his broom kit. "I am myself," he said. 

"I know – I mean, we know," said Hermione hastily. "Just you've been a bit down lately."

"I wonder why," Harry muttered, taking hold of his broom. 

Hermione looked at the floor, and Ron looked at her. Neither of them knew what to say. Harry felt a little guilty, but then pushed it away. They didn't understand – it's not that they didn't want to, they just couldn't. He sighed.

"I'll see you when I get back," he said, and left. 

Ron and Hermione sat where they were for a little while, and then Hermione looked up, tears in her eyes. 

"Hey," Ron said gently, and pulled her to him. She sniffed into his pyjama top. 

"I hate it when he's like that," Hermione said. 

"Me too."

"I don't know what to say to him."

"Me neither."

She looked up into his face. "But Ginny'll be good for him."  
Ron shrugged. "Here's hoping. And maybe they'll end up – you know. That would be better for him, I think."

"You can't force those things."

"I don't mean forcing, I mean it might just – happen."

"A lot of things might just happen. I don't think Ginny even likes Harry that way anymore."

"Hermione," Ron said, lying back on his pillow and pulling her with him. "Don't argue with me, because I'll never win that way."  
She laughed and snuggled up beside him, his arm around her. She knew it was a bit silly, but she wanted to see Ginny and Harry together too. It would be almost like a fairy-tale, the four of them.   

"What are you thinking about?" Ron asked softly. 

"Harry and Ginny. What are you thinking about?"

"I'm not sure you want to know."

She laughed and slapped him again.


	2. Flying

Ginny had changed into jeans and a t-shirt herself, and was waiting for him at the garden shed. She'd tied her hair back too, but wisps of it had already come out around her ears. She was looking around for Harry when he came from the kitchen door, and smiled when she saw him. 

"Here!" she called, waving. He jogged over to her. It was good to be outside, even if the sky was looking grey. 

"Hi. Ready?" he said eagerly, reaching her. 

"I was born ready," she said in a tough voice, and threw one leg over her broom, kicking off the ground and leaving him behind. It took him by surprise a bit, but his Seeker's reflexes soon kicked in, and in a few seconds he was right behind her. Besides, her _Cleansweep _was no match for his _Ascendant_. 

He was soon level with her, on her right-hand side. She was an excellent flier, steady but not afraid to take risks. She seemed happier, too – when he looked at her, she turned to smile wickedly at him, and then dropped low, quite suddenly. 

"Hey," he cried, laughing despite himself, and swooping to catch up. She looped around him.

"Too slow, Potter!"

He let her tease him. He could have pulled some daredevil flying on her, but for some reason he didn't want to. And he _was_ a bit dizzy from it, too – not the circling broom exactly, but something to do with her ponytail and bright laughter. 

After several minutes of this, she halted in front of him, and hovered. 

"You done yet?" he said, leaning back on his broom.

"What?" she retorted, breathless. "Too scared to chase me?"

Alright, enough of the easy going. He grinned and sped forward – she, with her equally quick reflexes, did the same. She tried to distract him with some feinting (left, right, left – further left – back to right), but he wasn't fooled. 

"Ginny Weasley," he called. 

"Harry Potter," she called back. 

He swept in front of her, and blocked her path. 

"Gotcha," he said. 

She smiled and shook her head. "Alright. You got me."

They looked at each other a few moments, and then both looked away. Harry glanced down, to the countryside. It was beautiful from high up. Everywhere was green. In the distance he could see The Burrow, so small and ramshackle that he felt a sudden surge of love for it. 

"I love it here," he said, feeling the need to tell somebody. 

"Me too," Ginny said, looking back at her house. "Every year I come up here and think I don't want to go back to Hogwarts."

Harry started. "Don't you like it there?"

"Of course I do. It's just – well, there's nothing quite like home is there?"

Harry's mood was immediately dampened. "I wouldn't know," he said. "Hogwarts is my home. Was."

Ginny turned to look at him. He didn't want to see her face and the pity there, but when he forced himself to meet her eyes, they contained nothing but a certain sadness. 

"You'll miss it, won't you?" she said. 

He nodded. He didn't want to think about not going back to Hogwarts, and she seemed to realise this, because she quickly brightened. 

"Well, you've got all of us anyway," she said cheerily. "You can see us anytime you like."

"That's true," he acknowledged. And it was. He felt a little better. 

"Come on," she said, waving vaguely ahead of them. 

They flew for almost two hours, sometimes gently, sometimes at speeds so fast he thought he might start flying all by himself. He felt happier than he had in a very long time, and the memories were all crammed up in the back of his mind. Locked away. Just where he liked them. 

He was lazily skimming about ten metres off the ground when he noticed Ginny was in trouble. She was about twenty metres above him and had been doing fine all the while – it was pure luck that he saw her when he did. Her broom gave a sudden jerk. That happened sometimes with _Cleansweep_s and he didn't think much of it. When she cried out, however, he looked up again and saw the broom hadn't _stopped_ jerking. It was bucking like a wild horse. 

Ginny didn't call for help. Her face was set and determined, but every few seconds she'd make a surprised sound as the broom moved. 

Harry began to fly up and see what the trouble was, when Ginny's broom gave a sudden, almighty heave and almost knocked her off her. 

"Ginny! Fuck!" he screamed, and was beside her in seconds. She was hanging on for dear life, trying to get balance, and the broom was trying to wrench itself away. 

"Ginny," he said again. "Hang on! Just – alright, I'm here, grab me."

He positioned his broom alongside her own and held out his arms. She looked at him, the brave Ginny gone, and a frightened girl in her place. 

"I can't!" she wailed. "I'll fall!"

"You won't fall," he said firmly, trying to remain calm himself. He almost just seized her as the broom gave another yank, but thought that might be even more dangerous if she panicked. "You won't fall," he repeated. "I'm right here. OK? Grab hold of me."

Tentatively, she reached out a hand, just as the broom leapt forwards with another jerking movement. She was holding onto nothing – air – for a few moments. His heart actually stopped. But then he had her, somehow, and was holding onto her, flying away from her mad broom and down to earth. 

Her face was buried in his chest, her arms around his waist, and her hair was underneath his chin. He'd hadn't touched it or smelt it since she was a giddy eleven-year-old, and it was the weirdest sensation to be so close to her. 

"You're OK," he murmured, taking the journey back to the ground very slowly – partly to keep her calm, and partly because … well, he quite liked holding her like this. "Don't worry. It's OK."  
He wondered if she could feel his heart beating. It was going like crazy. He'd thought she was going to die for a second there. 

When he reached the ground, he dropped his broom and sat down with her. She was sobbing now, holding onto him like she'd been holding onto the broom not long before, shaking and unable to find breath. He rubbed her back uncertainly and said something to her, he barely knew what – just something to stop her being so upset. It didn't really work, and she cried and swore for a little while longer. 

When she finally had control of herself again, she immediately released Harry.

"Sorry," she said, looking and sounding mortified. She wiped her face quickly. "Sorry. God. I must look awful. It's so stupid of me."

"It's not stupid at all," Harry said. "You nearly bloody died up there."

"I shouldn't cry. It's such a girly thing to cry."

"Well, you're a girl aren't you? And I'd be crying too if it was me."

She shook her head at him and half-smiled. "No, you wouldn't. It's just stupid because I'm fine, and nothing's wrong, so there's no reason to cry even. I guess – everything sort of caught up with me. Sorry."

"Don't worry," he said, looking at his feet. "I know what that's like. It's OK."  
Quite suddenly, Ginny's broom dropped out of the sky and plummeted to earth. They watched it in stunned silence, and both winced as it hit the ground and splintered. 

"Great," Ginny said miserably. "Mum's never going to let me get a new one."

"I wonder why it went crazy like that."

"Me too." She sighed. "I might not even be allowed to fly anymore after this."

"Not allowed to fly?"

She shrugged ruefully. "Mum and Dad are so careful about us now. You know – with Percy and everything."

Percy had been lost to the Weasleys a year ago. He'd come back to the family after realising he'd made a very big mistake, and was just beginning to find his feet again when he was attacked by Death Eaters in a Ministry of Magic siege. He'd died fighting, but that was little consolation for the family. 

Harry knew nothing he said would make her feel better about Percy – not much people said made him feel better about the people he'd lost – so he just nodded. 

"Thanks for saving me, Harry," she said, finding a smile. Her face was red from crying.

"That's alright," he said awkwardly. 

She laughed unexpectedly, sounding almost bitter. "What must you think of me?" she said. "I'm the same clumsy little eleven-year-old who sent you leprechaun valentines."

"You're – you," said Harry, not even sure what he meant by this. Ginny's smile faded, and she was looking at him strangely, with a bit of a frown. Harry didn't know where to look. The tension was broken as she stood. He did the same.

"We should get back," she said. "It looks like it might rain."

As she said the words, a drop of water sailed down from the sky and hit Harry on the head. They both grinned. 

"You jinxed us," he said. 

"I tend to do that," she replied.

He stepped onto his broom, and there was another awkward moment as she stood looking at it. Harry felt equally uncomfortable. It was different when she was being saved from death by splattering on the ground – this time they were purposely getting onto a broom together, and he wasn't sure what the etiquette was. 

"Ah – do you want to sit in front or behind?" he asked finally. 

"Um. I don't know. I guess – behind," she said.

He shifted up, and she straddled the broom. 

"Put your arms around my waist," he instructed, his voice a bit croaky. She complied, and shifted closer. 

"Right," he said, clearing his throat. "Well – let's go."

They back to The Burrow in afternoon rain.   


	3. Coming Down

Mrs Weasley came running out into the yard as they arrived. Neither of them had been able to remember the spell for repelling water – Harry had briefly wished Hermione was there, and was then very glad she wasn't – so they were soaking wet. 

"Oh no," Ginny mumbled as Mrs Weasley shouted incoherently up at them. 

"It's OK," said Harry. "We'll just tell her what happened."

"It's OK for you!" she retorted. "She loves _you_ no matter what you do." 

They landed, dismounted, and Mrs Weasley grabbed Ginny before they could say a word. 

"Ginny, you're so wet! And cold! Are you alright? What were you _doing_ out in this rain? I don't believe it. And where's your _broom_, Ginny?"

"Sorry, Mrs Weasley," Harry said quickly. "It's my fault."

"It's not his fault," Ginny interrupted, frowning at him. "We went out this morning and the weather was fine, and then my broom went crazy and smashed itself to bits."

"Smashed itself to bits?" Mrs Weasley said in disbelief. 

Ginny nodded, and Mrs Weasley hugged her harder. 

"Mum! Air!" Ginny said, choking. Her mother pulled her away a little to look her over. "Are you sure nothing's broken? Are you sure everything's alright?"

"I'm fine." She hesitated. "Harry got me just in time."

Mrs Weasley whipped around to Harry and swept him into her arms. "Oh Harry, thank Merlin you're alright too. Thank Merlin you were there to help Ginny."

"It – really wasn't that bad," Harry tried to say, but Mrs Weasley had one arm draped over each of their shoulders now and was hustling them inside. 

"Still," she said, as she sat them down at the kitchen table, "you could have tried to charm the water off yourselves."

"We couldn't remember," Harry said feebly. 

Mrs Weasley tut-tutted, and pointed her wand at the fireplace. "_Incendio!_" A bright flame sprung up from the wood, and she sighed in satisfaction. "I'll get towels," she announced, and hurried off.

Ginny shook her head. "Sorry," she said. "I told you."

"It's alright." Harry grinned and shrugged. "She doesn't get to do it much anymore, I guess."

Fred and George chose this moment to walk in from the living room. They both stopped when they saw Harry and Ginny smiling at each other, soaked through. 

"Well, well, well," said Fred, jabbing George in the ribs. "Looks like we're a bit behind the times."

"Harry," George said, putting on a patient, instructional voice. "What have I told you? We go swimming _without_ clothes, not _in _them. Particularly when girls are involved."

Fred wrinkled his nose. "George. Sister."

"She's not Harry's sister," George said pointedly.

Ginny was blushing furiously, and Harry had a feeling he might be doing the same. Fred and George looked supremely satisfied. 

"How's things, old chum?" Fred said, sitting opposite Harry. 

"Not bad," he replied warily. 

"Fought any more dark wizards?"

Harry said nothing. George made a show of buffing his fingernails against his collar. "I bumped off two just last week," he said breezily. "Nothing to it." 

Harry couldn't help but smile. 

Fred leant forward a bit and said, in a more serious voice: "Holding up?"

Harry nodded. 

Fred leant back, nodding, and George promptly pulled his chair out from under him. 

Just then, Mrs Weasley came back in, saw them, and shouted something about dirty shoes and leaving Harry and Ginny to get dry. Fred got up from the floor as gracefully as he could manage and George managed to steal five just-cooked biscuits before they were gone. 

Mrs Weasley began to towel a resigned Ginny's hair down, and Harry quickly stood before she could pounce on him. 

"Ah – I'll just go upstairs and get changed," he said.

"Oh. Certainly, dear." She threw him a towel, and Ginny threw him a 'save me' look. He shrugged helplessly, and she rolled her eyes. Mrs Weasley set to searching through the laundry basket for Ginny's dry clothes, and Harry ran upstairs. 

He opened the door to Ron's room, and was immediately confronted with a very messy-haired, red-lipped Hermione, sitting on the floor and reading a book upside-down, and a bright-red Ron, breathing hard and lying back on his bed. 

Harry entered slowly, feeling distinctly weirded out. 

"Is this a bad time?" he said. 

"No, no!" Hermione replied shrilly. "No, I was just going." She dropped her book and left, avoiding Ron's eye. 

Harry dried quickly, changed into pants and a T-shirt, and then looked at Ron, who was fighting to keep the grin off his face. 

"Was I interrupting something?" Harry asked mildly. 

"Um – nothing," Ron said, waving a hand at him. "Don't worry about it."

Harry laughed. "You two are ridiculous."

Ron shrugged, looking both embarrassed and pleased. Then he eyed Harry. "That's the first time you've laughed in weeks."

Now it was Harry's turn to look embarrassed. He turned away to put his broomstick up against the wall. "I feel better after flying."

"Right," Ron said shrewdly. "How did Ginny fly?"

"Good," Harry said, still not facing him. "She could make Captain this year. Her broom's trashed though." He told the story, and Ron was suitably impressed. 

"Always bloody saving people," he said, shaking his head. "You're a worry, mate."

"What was I going to do?" Harry protested. "Let her fall?"

"No," Ron said. "Course not."

"Well, then."

Harry moved to the end of Ron's bed and leant back against the wall. 

"So," he said eventually, mostly for want of conversation, but also because he was curious. "Have you and Hermione – you know."

"Ah – no," Ron said, flushing. "Not yet."

"Not yet?"

Ron kicked him, and Harry ducked away. "We've only been properly together a month, and she wants to take things slowly. And that's fine."

"Yeah, you really looked like you were taking things slowly before."

Ron kicked him again, and it hurt, but Harry was too happy to care. 

"Harry," Ron said after a while. 

"Yeah?"

"Good to have you back."

_Am I back? _Harry thought. It struck him that Lupin and Sirius and Tonks and Percy and maybe even Dumbledore wouldn't ever be back, and he felt suddenly, terribly guilty. How was it that he could be so happy, when so many people weren't ever going to feel happy again? Feel anything again? When so many people were lost or dead or gone. 

"Harry?" Ron said uncertainly. 

Harry looked up, rather blankly. "What?"

"Are you OK?"

"Yeah." He sat in silence for a few seconds, and then got up. "I think I'll just go to the bathroom."

He left. Ron wondered what he'd said wrong. Harry went to the bathroom – the only place where a person could really be alone in the Weasley house – and sat there for almost an hour. He wasn't crying, he wasn't even thinking. He was just sitting, and feeling inexpressibly ashamed.

~

Dinner was a noisy affair. The rain had eased off, so they ate outside, once Mrs Weasley had forced Fred and George to float the tables outside. 

Charlie wasn't around – he was in Syria, supervising the births of certain desert dragons – but Bill and Fleur Delacour, his fiancée, came around. They were sitting in the kitchen when Harry came down. Bill shook Harry's hand, and Fleur kissed him on both cheeks with much exclamation – she hadn't seen him since his sixth year. Mr Weasley was also home, having left work via the Floo Network, and Mrs Weasley was relating the entire mad broomstick debacle. 

"It was a good thing Harry was there, or Ginny would be – be –" She trailed off, looking upset, just as Ginny came in from the living room. She was wearing a skirt and light cotton shirt, and sighed as soon as she heard her mother. 

"Can we please stop talking about it?" she asked exasperatedly. "

"You should be more careful," Mr Weasley said sternly. 

"I _was _being careful. It was the _broom_."

"What was the broom?" George asked curiously, coming in through the kitchen door. 

"Ginny's broom went mad this afternoon," Bill said matter-of-factly. "When she was flying it."

"Went – mad?" George asked slowly. 

Mrs Weasley's face immediately darkened with suspicion. "Yes. Why?"

"Oh – ah, nothing," George said, a little too casually. Fred came in behind him, and George tried to signal him with one hand to back out, but Fred wasn't catching on. 

"What's happening?"

"Fred, dear," Mrs Weasley said, in dangerously sweet tones. "Did you by any chance charm one of our brooms to buck?"

"Oh, that!" Fred said, sounding pleased. "We were going to develop it as a kids' ride."

George groaned. 

"What?" Fred asked, looking at him. George shook his head, and _then_ Fred caught on. 

Ginny grabbed Harry's arm and hustled him out through the kitchen door. Bill and Fleur followed and headed for the table, which was set up with plates and cutlery. 

"Sorry," Ginny said. They were standing under a tree, about five metres from the table. Ron and Hermione were looking down at the set-up from his bedroom window and talking together. 

"That's alright," Harry said. He knew he sounded different, and Ginny noticed. 

"What's the matter?"

"Nothing."

"You sound upset."

"I'm fine."

"Is it Mum?"

"It's nothing, OK?" he snapped. "It's nothing you'd understand."

There was a brief silence while he wished the earth would swallow him up. Why did he say that? He risked a look at her face – she seemed very cool and collected, but her eyes were hurt. 

"Well," she said stiffly. "I'm going to sit down."

She moved away to do so, and Harry inwardly kicked himself. 

_You're a dick_, his inner monologue said scathingly. _Just because you're angry doesn't mean you have to take it out on everyone else. Especially not Ginny, who's never done a thing to _make_ you angry, anyway. Dick, dick, dick._

But by the time he'd worked up the courage to apologise, Mrs Weasley, Mr Weasley and two very chastened Weasley twins were filing out of the house with full serving dishes, Ron and Hermione following close behind. 

Harry was placed between Ron and Bill, while Ginny was next to Hermione on Ron's other side. He wished they were closer, but he couldn't very well shout: "Ginny, I'm sorry!" across the table to her, so he decided to wait till later.

After dessert, the adults sat back while Hermione, Ron, Harry and Ginny cleared up. It was a ritual thing, and they did it happily, considering Mrs Weasley made all the food. Harry was the last to finish gathering up his stack of plates, so when he went into the kitchen, Hermione had already filled the sink with soapy water, Ron was slipping dirty plates into it, and Ginny was at the counter sorting instant-clean cutlery. 

Harry put his pile of plates down and moved to stand behind Ginny. 

"Sorry," he said quietly. She pretended not to hear him. He tapped her on the shoulder and she turned, looking angry. 

"What?" she snapped. 

Hermione and Ron were staring whilst attempting to look like they weren't. Harry tried not to pay attention to them. 

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"For what?"

"For being nasty before."

"Are you sure you're sorry? Maybe I won't _understand._"

"Ginny …"

"You're not the only one who's lost people. You not the only one with problems, either. I cope, we all cope. You pretend like you're alright, and then I think maybe even you're coping, but the next time I talk to you, you bite my head off."

"I can't help it," he said, angry himself now. "I can't pretend just to suit everybody else."

"God forbid you just let yourself be happy."

"You try being happy when so many people are dead!"

"I _have_ tried," she said coldly. "I do try. All the time. And it's hard, but you get on with things. If you don't open up, you're never going to be yourself again. It's – it's inconsiderate."

And with that, she stormed out. 

There was a long silence in which all that could be heard was the sloshing of dishwater as the plates quietly washed themselves.

Then Hermione and Ron broke into forced chatter, and Harry moved to put cutlery away, feeling about as low as he ever had.


	4. Apologising

That night, Harry was lying in bed, still kicking himself, and wondering where Ron had gone. He suspected that he and Hermione had snuck off again, but this time it didn't annoy him. It would give him time to think. 

He considered Ginny, alone in the girls' room. 

More than time to think, this would give him time to apologise, properly. He didn't want to spend the summer with this over their heads. _I should end it now_, he thought, and suddenly he was standing up, and walking softly out of his room and down the hall. It was quite dark out, almost eleven o'clock, and moonlight glistened lightly on the floorboards. 

Outside Ginny's door, he paused a moment, working himself up to it, before knocking. 

He had a brief thought as she came to answer the door: _What if she doesn't want to hear another apology? _The notion panicked him a little, but then she was opening it and stepping back in surprise when she saw it was him. 

"Erm – hi," said Harry awkwardly. 

"Hi," she said. 

"Can I – come in?"  
Wordlessly, Ginny turned and walked into her room. Harry followed, shutting the door behind him. Ginny leant against the windowsill and faced him.

He looked around the room, momentarily distracted. It was typically Ginny – quite practical and natural, but with feminine touches here and there, like the soft, white curtains and flowers on the mantelpiece. He knew which bed was Hermione's – it was surrounded by book-piles. 

"How does she get into that thing at night?" Harry grinned. 

Ginny shrugged, smiling reluctantly. "What do you want, Harry?" she asked. She didn't sound angry, exactly – more distant.

"Ginny," he said, stepping forward a little. She seemed uncomfortable, and shifted on her window-sill-ledge. He stopped moving. "I know I've said this already, but I'm sorry. Really, really sorry. For what I said outside, and then what I said in the kitchen. It was – I don't know, it was stupid of me." She wasn't looking at him, and the more he thought about what he'd said, the more wretched he felt. "You're right. I am inconsiderate. I don't – want to be. But it's like it was back in fifth year, where nobody told me what was going on and I was always angry … except this time, it feels like I've got all these things stored up in _me_ that have happened, and _I _can't tell anyone."

And then he couldn't look at _her_ anymore. He didn't know what she thought of all this, but suspected she'd throw him out soon. 

He jumped in surprise when she spoke next, because she was standing directly in front of him. 

"You don't have to pretend, like you said downstairs," she murmured. 

"I – I feel like I do," he said, after a pause. 

"You don't, not with us. It makes me so angry when you start brooding, because it's pointless. We're all here for you to talk to. You should just let yourself be happy, and not question it. Like this afternoon. You were happy then, weren't you?"

"Yes. Just, I feel – guilty," he said. He had to swallow hard. Usually he hated sympathy, but this – this was gentler, less patronising. This was Ginny, and it made him feel weak. _Please don't let me cry in front of her_, he thought fiercely.  

She touched his arm, and he could smell her hair again. It was a soapy smell, and some kind of flowers. "Sirius wouldn't want you to feel guilty," she said firmly. "Neither would Lupin, or any of them. They'd hate it."

"Can't help it," he said, in a strangled voice. 

"You have to, if you're going to keep on living."

He breathed out heavily. "Fuck," he muttered. Then: "Sorry."

She smiled wryly. "It's OK. I've got a houseful of brothers, remember?"

He laughed shortly, and then forced himself to meet her eye. She was looking at him, and he felt a swooping in his stomach. 

"So will you try?" she said finally. 

"I guess – I will."

"Well, good. Good."

Now neither of them was looking at the other. Finally, Harry said: "Thanks, Gin."

"That's alright," she said, and then, quite suddenly, slipped two slender arms around his neck to hug him. 

He didn't know what to do at first, but in a few moments had caught on and was holding her, very carefully. Ginny always seemed so tough, but when he touched her he felt how little she was, how fragile. He always felt that way about girls, but Ginny, with her 'houseful of brothers' and practicality … she was different altogether.

And now the hug was stretching a little too long, pushing the boundaries of appropriateness for two good friends. Her hands were touching his neck, and his were around her waist, and he knew he should let go and end this now, but quite frankly he didn't want to. He found that, despite himself, he was holding her closer. She sighed into his shoulder.

And then there were two sets of footsteps on the stairs, and laughter, and Harry and Ginny's hands slid off one another immediately. Ginny moved back to her window-sill as the door opened. 

Hermione stopped where she was. Ron was still behind her in the corridor. 

"Ah – I'm sorry. I'll come back later," she said.

"No, no," Harry said quickly, moving to the door. "I'm just going."

Hermione came all the way in, and Harry stopped in the doorway. 

"Thanks again, Ginny," he said, and then pushed past a staring Ron to go along the corridor to their room. 

Ron didn't say anything when they went to bed that night, but Harry thought long and hard about that hug. _She'd_ put her arms around _him_, hadn't she? She'd hugged him. But maybe it _was_ just a friendly thing, and he was reading too much into it. 

_Because why_, he thought, turning uncomfortably on his mattress, _would Ginny Weasley, rarely without a boyfriend, pretty and funny and smart, want me?_

He tried to tell himself that he was being ridiculous, but still he couldn't shake the feeling of her hands on his neck – and then the ride on his broom earlier, with her pressed up behind him. 

Harry forgot his dreamless sleep potion that night, but it didn't matter. He dreamt that he and Ginny were crossing a river together, and on the other bank, Lupin and his father and his mother and Sirius and Tonks and everyone who'd died were standing there, smiling at him. 

~~~

*Sorry. Bit of a shorter chapter. Promise more fluff to come! And please review! You'll be glad you had – because you'll be making me glad ~no more 3x5s~ Love Shez   PS – I don't think I'll be outlining the plot for you, MarkoQuill, because I'm not even sure what's going to happen yet… you'll just have to wait and see.


	5. Gone Fishing

The next week passed slowly for Harry, with Mrs Weasley demanding their help in a summer clean-up of The Burrow ("You're confused, Mum," Ron argued, "It's Spring Cleaning. _Spring_ Cleaning.") No amount of cajoling could get them out of it, so they ended up spending the first few days dusting, removing Boggarts, and scrubbing floors – or, that is, Harry, Ginny, Fred and George did (Fred and George on duty as punishment for the broom incident – even as legal adults they couldn't escape their Mum's pure force of will). Hermione and Ron voted to take on garden duties, but spent most of their time fooling about and/or sneaking off. 

Harry had been wondering what would happen between he and Ginny now, but it was a definite anti-climax. In fact, she didn't even look at him most of the time, and they barely spoke two words to one another. Harry felt weirdly awkward around her, and nervous, and ended up avoiding eye contact with her himself. He thought she might even regret having hugging him like that. But every now and again, he'd have to pass her in the hall or ask her to hand him a dustpan or something, and his stomach flip-flopped. Once, she'd slipped passed him to fetch her wand, and just the feeling of her front against his back was enough to make him sweat. 

No amount of inner monologues following along the lines of _Pull yourself together, man_ worked. 

He wondered why he hadn't noticed her in quite this way before. 

On Wednesday evening, after three days of cleaning, Mrs Weasley decided they'd done enough, much to Harry's relief. He needed a little time away from Ginny, he thought, so he could just settle his nerves (and certain other body parts) and maybe then he'd be himself again.

But when Ginny spent the next two days in her room, doing a holiday Potions essay, he felt mostly lost. He was constantly wandering over the house, hoping she'd pop up – and often not even realising he was hoping for her until somebody _else_ came in, and he was disappointed. 

He tried to take her advice and not brood about the things that had happened, but without her around, it became harder and harder. When he wasn't thinking about Ginny, he was thinking about Voldemort and dead people. He knew it was ridiculous, that if he wanted to he could talk to anybody in the house about what had happened and they'd be happy to oblige – he knew this intellectually, but he just couldn't bring himself to it. He kept the thoughts inside instead, and pushed them down when he could. 

On Saturday, Harry went flying with Ron and Hermione (Hermione having finally consented, after much wheedling from Ron, to be taken up on Ron's broom). They ended up beside a stream, and Hermione promptly conjured a full picnic basket and rug.

"This will do nicely," she said, sounding satisfied. 

"I agree," Ron said immediately. He was already unwrapping a sandwich. 

They ate and lounged for the better part of the morning, and into the afternoon. Ron went off to go fishing – Hermione had to transfigure a stick into a rod for him – and Harry and Hermione were left chatting idly on the grass. 

Harry had a sudden thought. Hermione and Ginny were such good friends, maybe he could ask her about – 

The inner monologue cut in. _About what?_

He didn't know. He just wanted to talk about Ginny, and it seemed an opportune moment, with Ron gone. 

"'Mione," he said casually. 

"Mm?"

"You're good friends with Ginny, aren't you?"

She shifted a little to face him. "Of course. So are you, Harry."

"Right. Right." He cleared his throat, but couldn't think what else to say. 

"It's a pity she couldn't come today," Hermione said eventually. "She's still trying to do her essays."

"I haven't seen her the past couple of days," Harry said. "But I knew she was, you know, doing homework." He paused, and then went on quickly: "Is she angry at me about something?"

"What, again?" Hermione said in disbelief. "You're as bad as me and Ron were."

"I don't know what it is!" he protested. "I haven't done anything. She's just been weird this week."

"Really? I haven't noticed."

There was a brief silence. Then Harry found himself saying: "Do you think she's seeing anyone?"

_Aha_, said inner monologue. _That's where you're headed. _

Hermione raised her eyebrows. Harry, immediately beginning to blush, faced the other way. 

"I don't think so," she said. "I know her and Ernie broke up months before the end of term, and she hasn't mentioned anyone else."

"Right," Harry muttered. He was embarrassed – he wished he'd never brought it up. 

"Harry," Hermione said. Reluctantly, he turned to face her. "What's this about?"

_Do I tell her? _he thought. She was a girl, at least. Maybe she'd understand it. 

"I don't know," he said finally. "I think I might like her."

Hermione grinned. "That's great," she said. 

He groaned and covered his face with his hands. "It's not," he said. "I don't know what to do with myself. This is worse than Cho, and even Susan."

Hermione wriggled a bit closer. "It can't be that bad," she said sensibly. "What's bad about liking someone?"

"I don't think she likes _me_," Harry protested. "She hasn't even looked at me properly all week."  
Hermione considered him for a few moments. Then she said, quietly: "I think it's good that you can focus on this stuff, too, Harry, and not just – you know."

"I know," he sighed. He didn't want to talk about it, and Hermione clearly picked up his non-communicative vibe. 

"Well," she said, sitting up and brushing her hair back. "All you can do is ask her."

"Ask her what?"

"If she's seeing someone. If she'll see you."

"I don't think I can."

"Why?"

Harry flushed. "I'm too nervous when I'm around her these days."

"Well then, be friendly with her. Become better friends than you were before, and things might – go from there."

She was looking at Ron, who was coming up over the hill with a resigned expression on his face and no fish. 

"I don't want to wait seven years," he protested. 

"You'll just have to be more proactive than Ron was," she said, rolling her eyes. 

"Erm – don't tell Ron about this, will you Hermione?"

"Why?"

"I just don't know how he'd react," Harry explained. Truth was, he didn't want to be laughed out of his skin – because if Ron knew, Fred and George would know pretty soon, and after that, the world.

She smiled and nodded. "I won't tell a soul."

"Thanks, Hermione."

"That's OK."

Ron threw himself down beside them. "Merlin," he said heavily. "I could _see_ the fish, literally see them, and they all just swam around my hook like it had a repelling charm on it."

Hermione bit her lip. Ron gaped, and then tackled her. "You put a repelling charm on my hook!?" he cried wildly. 

All Hermione could do was giggle and nod, and pretty soon the two of them were kissing again. Harry looked the other way, and, despite himself, wondered if he and Ginny would ever be like that. 


	6. Inviting

They got home at about four o'clock, and came in through the kitchen. A frazzled Mrs Weasley was pointing her wand at various kitchen implements (which were flying dangerously above their heads) and muttering to herself. 

"Are you alright, Mum?" Ron asked nervously. 

"Your father can't get home tonight!" she said furiously. "You'd think with Voldemort gone, he'd make some time for us, but no, 'the Ministry still needs him'. It's ridiculous. It's preposterous." 

She looked up, eyes fiery, and then remembered Harry. She covered her mouth with one hand. "Oh Harry," she said. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't talk about all that. Sorry."

"It's alright," said Harry, trying not to sound irritated, even though he was. _Enough_ with the tip-toeing already. 

Mrs Weasley seemed calmer, but her eyes had welled up with tears. She brushed them away quickly, and went back to cooking. "It's just us, and Ginny, and Fred and George tonight," she went on. "So we'll eat inside."  
Ron and Hermione looked at each other. Harry looked at the stairs. Ginny was coming down them. She was yawning sleepily.  

Hermione saw too, and tugged at Ron's arm. 

"Let's go sit outside," she said. 

Ron, clearing anticipating a snogging, followed her happily. Ginny had gone into the lounge room now, and Harry went after her. 

She heard him coming in on the creaking floorboards and spun around. 

"Oh. It's you, Harry," she said. 

"Yeah. Hi." He hesitated. "Tired?"

"Just had a bit of a sleep then," she said evasively. "Been doing all this work."  
He nodded, but could think of nothing else to say. After a few moments, she looked like she might be about to leave again, and he quickly stepped forward and spoke quietly: "Are you angry at me?"

"No," she said, looking taken aback. 

"Oh." That was a relief. "Then why are you avoiding me?"

She raised her eyebrows in disbelief. "_I'm _avoiding _you_?"

"Er – yes?" he said, uncertain now. 

"I thought you were avoiding me."

He started. "What?"

"I did. You're not?"

"No," he said, shaking his head vehemently. 

"Really?" 

They stood looking at each other and then both smiled ruefully. 

"Well," Ginny said. "I feel like an idiot."

"I feel exactly the same."

"Why would I be avoiding you?"

Harry thought about that too-long hug, but couldn't bring it up. "I don't know," he said. 

They went on looking at one another. 

_I have to say something now_, he thought, _or I might not get a decent chance again. _But what? What could he possibly say that wouldn't make him sound like an absolute arse? 

The idea came to in one of those rare flashes of inspiration.

"Listen, Ron and Hermione and I were talking today and we thought we might go into Diagon Alley tomorrow. D'you want to come? You could get your school stuff. Or not, you know, you could not get school stuff. It's up to you. If you come or not, as well. I mean – I just thought – you might want to," he finished lamely. _Smooth. Very smooth, Potter._

She smiled, a bit shyly. He didn't think he'd seen Ginny _shy_ since he was twelve. "That sounds great, but I'll have to ask Mum. You know how weird she can be these days."

He nodded. Fair enough. 

"So – if she says you can come, you'll come?"

"Sure."  
 "OK," he said. "Great. Good. Well – let me know once you've asked her."

"I will," she said. 

"Well, I'll – see you at dinner, then."

"OK. I'm going to go help Mum," she said, and went past him into the kitchen. 

Harry stood where he was a moment, and then broke into a smile – couldn't stop himself. That wasn't a flat-out rejection at all. That was practically an acceptance. Not that they were on a date or anything. Nothing like, because it was all four of them. Which was the genius of his plan – he wouldn't have to be alone with Ginny, so he couldn't freak out, but he'd still get to be with her. 

Then he remembered that Ron and Hermione had no idea about the whole Diagon Alley concept, and went outside to find them. 

They weren't, in fact, snogging – they were sitting on a sagging, wooden bench, holding hands and talking. Ron let go of Hermione's hand when he saw Harry, and waved him over. 

Harry sat down next to them, and immediately launched into his spiel about Diagon Alley. Ron was enthusiastic, Hermione less so.

"I like it here better," she said. 

"It's just a day trip," Harry argued. She still looked unconvinced. He hesitated, and then met her eye properly. "I invited Ginny along too, so she could get her school things if she wanted."

He actually saw Hermione's eyes brighten as she twigged. After that, she made a brief show of reluctance, and then, with some convincing from Ron, agreed. 

"I suppose it might be fun," she said finally. "We won't be getting our books for the first time. And I can have a look at the library."  
Ron shook his head in mock-disgust. Harry grinned at her. If her future career – whatever that might be – didn't work out, she could always go on the stage. 

~

Fred and George were rather gloomy at dinner. Their apartment in London had plumbing problems and wouldn't be repaired for at least another week – which meant another week at home. They were so used to the fast life of the city now that they were easily bored in the confines of The Burrow, and constantly badgering whoever was nearest to play quidditch, or fruit tennis (in which they charmed pieces of fruit to act as ball and racquet – a game of their own, recent invention), or whatever ludicrous scheme they'd last cooked up. They were also worried about their joke shop. 

"Who knows what Lee's doing to the place," Fred said glumly. 

"He could be giving away our extendable ears to pretty girls."

"Or forgetting to pay the lease."

"Or trying on my dragon-skin jacket!" George exclaimed in an anguished tone. "I forgot I'd left it out the back!"

They both settled into a moody silence. 

Harry tried to look at Ginny for most of dinner, but she was at the other end again, and Mrs Weasley blocked his view. Every now and again he'd catch a glimpse of her hand reaching for the potatoes, or a flick of red hair. 

~

Later than night, he and Ron were playing chess on the floor in Ron's room, Hermione stretched out on Ron's bed, absorbed in a book. There was a knock on the door, and then it opened. 

It was Ginny. She was wearing her pyjamas already, little grey shorts and a T-shirt, and Harry felt his mouth dry out. 

"Hi," Ginny said. "Just thought I'd let you know I can come tomorrow."

Harry nodded. "Great," he said, somehow finding voice. "You're Mum was alright?"

Ginny shrugged. "Well, sort of," she said reluctantly. 

"Sort of?" Ron asked. "That sounds a bit –"

"Ominous," Hermione finished for him. "What did she say?"

"I can go," said Ginny, "on one condition."  
   


	7. Londoning

*Hey – glad you're liking it. The reference to Susan in the previous chapter is my little tribute to the literally epic-length story by LavenderBrown, "The Book of Morgan Le Fey" – now that's a Harry Potter fan fiction …

~~~

"Alright, boys and girls, here we are," said Fred grandly, as he led the way through _The Leaky Cauldron_. "George, I think you'd better do a headcount."

Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny groaned simultaneously. This was the third elaborate headcount of the hour. 

"Sorry," Ginny muttered in Harry's ear. She was standing behind him. 

"That's OK," he muttered back. "Let them have their fun."

"George?" cried Fred.

"All present and accounted for," announced George. 

The patrons of _The Leaky Cauldron_ were staring at them, but Fred and George were unaware – or blatantly uncaring. 

This had been the condition for Ginny's trip to London – that Fred and George accompany them. They had strict instructions (apparently) not to let the four out of their sight, and had been following these orders to a T.

"Why _exactly_ did we have to invite Ginny?" Ron was saying gratingly in Hermione's ear. 

She hushed him as Fred and George led the way into the back courtyard, tapped the correct bricks, and stepped back. 

The wall into Diagon Alley opened. 

Everyone was silent a moment, even the twins. This was a piece of magic that never lost its – well, magic. 

"There we are," said George in reverent tones. 

Fred exhaled heavily. "Thank Merlin. We're back in town."

"The street can't hear you," George pointed out. 

"That man did. Hello, there!" Fred waved cheerfully to a warlock in a pointy hat, who hurried away. He shrugged, and turned to the others. "Come on, what are we waiting for?"

He and George pushed their way into the crowd. Ron grabbed Hermione's arm, and Harry, after a moment's pause, gently took hold of Ginny's. The gesture seemed a little medieval at first, but was actually a fairly good idea – at least that way they couldn't all get separated. And there was no small danger of that. It was a very busy day in Diagon Alley. Harry recognised a few Hogwarts students, and all who saw him stared. He flattened his hair over his forehead in a habitual movement. Bloody scar. 

Ginny was looking at him. 

"Are you alright?"

"Fine," he said, a bit awkwardly. "People staring at me."

"They're bound to after last term."

"I know. I know that."  
The words _But I still don't like it _were left unsaid. Ginny didn't pursue the issue. Harry had kind of been hoping his scar might disappear if he killed Voldemort, but no such luck. It was still there, plastered across his forehead for everyone to see. 

Within a few minutes, they were standing outside _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_ – the twins' already legendary joke shop. People were going in and out in a constant stream, and most of them with paper bags and parcels bearing the Weasley slogan: "We make 'em, you use 'em to annoy others." 

Inside, Harry craned his neck to see who was at the counter. It was Lee Gordon, Acting Manager in the twins' absence. He'd shaved off his dreadlocks, too, and was looking very suave and professional. There was another girl helping him – it looked like Angelina. Was it Angelina?

"Is that Angelina Johnson?" Hermione said shrilly. 

The girl looked up at the sound of her name. "Hermione?" she said enthusiastically. 

Hermione shook off Ron's hand and run up to hug her. They embraced. Ron looked confused. 

"I didn't know they were such good friends," he muttered to Harry, even as Ginny went forward to do the same. 

"I don't think they are," Harry replied. "I think it's a girl thing."

While they exclaimed over Angelina's hair – which was short – and asked what she was doing working in the twins' joke shop of all places, Fred and George approached Lee. Lee was run off his feet serving customers and had to speak between payments. Harry and George stood behind the twins, constantly jostled by people passing. 

"How goes it, Lee?" said Fred tensely. "No problems?"

"That's 3 galleons," Lee said. "No, it's been fine. Busy, busy. I'm glad you're here. Do you want that wrapped?" He turned to shout at Angelina. "Oi! I need you, hurry up!"

"In a minute," Angelina said vaguely. She was still talking animatedly to Hermione and Ginny. 

"Merlin," Lee said. "Thanks very much. 1 galleon, thank you." The next person paid, and the twins waited as patiently as they could, but pretty soon they'd stepped up behind the counter to help serve. 

"Right," George said to Harry and Ron – Hermione and Ginny bid farewell to Angelina, and moved to join them. "You lot go off then."

"Don't you want to headcount us?" Hermione asked, looking confused. 

"Don't be ridiculous, we've got work to do," said Fred, very business-like. "That's 5 knuts, thanks."

"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," said Hermione uncertainly. 

"Hermione!" Ron exclaimed. "Come on! Let's go while we can!"

"Go, go," said George. "You're in the way, and we have a business to run. We'll meet you at _The Leaky Cauldron_, five o'clock this afternoon."

"If you're not there, I'll slaughter you, because Mum'll slaughter us," Fred added. "Bag or parcel?"

The four of them made their way out onto the street, and stood awkwardly for a few moments. 

"Well," Ron said. "I think we should go and get ice-cream. Hermione?"

"I don't know about changing the plan," she said, sounding worried. 

"What," Ron scoffed, "did you really think Fred and George were going to stay with us all day? Ginny, Harry, are you coming?"

Ginny made a face. "No thanks, I don't feel like it. I think I'll go and get my books."

"Well Harry, you'll have to go with Ginny, too," Ron said matter-of-factly. "She can't run off all by herself."

"Er – um – right," said Harry. _Well, there goes the master plan_, he thought desperately. _I'm going to be all alone with her and I won't know what to say. _But Ron was right – Ginny couldn't just wander off by herself.  

"You don't have to," Ginny said quickly. "Not just for my sake." She frowned at her brother. "I'm fine, Ron."

"No," Harry said immediately, "it's OK. I don't want ice cream. And we'll have fun."

Ginny eyed him suspiciously. "Please don't come if you don't want to," she said. 

"I do," he replied firmly. He turned to Hermione and Ron. "We'll meet you – where?"

"Outside the library at one o'clock," Hermione said promptly. Ron grimaced. 

Harry nodded. He realised he had taken hold of Ginny's arm again, without having noticed. He hoped she didn't mind. 

"Don't get lost, will you?" Hermione said anxiously as Ron bustled her away. 

"We'll be fine," Harry called back. "Don't worry about us!"

"Well," Ginny said when they were gone. "I'm sorry. If you want to go and do your own thing, I understand."

"Ginny, it's fine," he said hurriedly. "I meant it. I'm happy to go along and get books and things." He paused, and shrugged. "Besides, they're hopeless when it comes to each other. They'll end up snogging in the corner of some pub while I sit all on my lonesome."

She smiled wryly. "I doubt that."

There was a brief silence. Harry wasn't sure what she'd meant. 

"Well," she said, "we should go, then, shouldn't we?" 

"We should."  
~

They reached _Flourish & Blotts_ not long after. It was still only the beginning of summer, so there weren't as many students as Harry was used to, and it was much quieter than Fred and George's. There were perhaps twenty people in the store. Harry and Ginny approached a shelf full of quills, and stood in silence for almost a minute before Ginny spoke.

"Um, Harry," Ginny said. 

"Yes?"

"You can let go of my arm now."

"Oh, right," he said, dropping it like a hot potato and blushing furiously. He was about to apologise when somebody spoke behind him. 

"Potter."

He turned. He knew that voice. It was a rather subdued Draco Malfoy. 

"Malfoy," Harry said. "Hello."  
They shook hands. 

"How are you?" Malfoy asked cordially.

"Not too bad. You?"

Malfoy held up his left arm, which was bandaged. "You know," he said. "Getting there."

Harry nodded. Ginny looked at her feet. No matter what had happened the previous year, she still didn't like him. Harry could understand that – but he'd gotten to know Malfoy a little better in 7th Year. 

Malfoy had made a swift conversion to the side of Dumbledore's Army with the death of his mother on his father's command. Apparently, he'd been having doubts for some time, and that sad event cemented those doubts. There'd been much discussion among the ranks of students and staff alike, but nobody could deny that Malfoy, whilst still cool and aloof, lost most of his nastiness and all of his bullying. He'd fought alongside Harry and the other DA members, and – despite their history – Harry trusted him.

"What are you doing here?" Harry asked. 

"Stationary."

"Ah."

"Ginny Weasley, isn't it?" Malfoy said then, turning to her. 

There was a very awkward silence in which Ginny said nothing, and still did not look up.

Eventually Malfoy nodded, a bitter sort of smile twisting his lips. He shrugged at Harry as if to say 'Well, what can you do?' Harry returned the gesture, and Malfoy, raising a hand 'goodbye', walked away. 

Ginny breathed out. "I'm sorry," she said. "That was rude."

"It doesn't matter."

"I just don't like him. I can't forgive him."

"I know. It's OK."  
She shook her head. Clearly, she was angry with herself. 

"Ginny," he said gently. "It's OK, really. Come on, what do you need?"

Calmed a little, she pulled out her list, and they went looking for her equipment and textbooks. Harry found it very strange not buying anything for himself, but also sort of liberating.  

After paying, Ginny went out the door carrying all her books, under her own insistence. Harry was still trying to get her to give a few over to him when she stumbled on the pavement and everything tipped to the ground. 

She went crimson with embarrassment and bent to gather it all up, just as Harry did the same. Like some kind of Three Stooges movie, they bumped heads. Both of them, still bent over, looked up at each other in surprise. 

"Sorry," said Harry.

At that point, they burst into laughter. It felt so good to laugh like that – Harry barely remembered the last time he had. He was literally clutching his stomach, he was laughing so hard. People on the street were looking at them. And whenever he looked at Ginny, and saw her laughing too, it just started him off again. 

Still in the throes of serious amusement (*oh, an oxymoron – sorry, no more A/N right in the middle hehe), they knelt and began to pick things up properly and pile them on the pavement. 

"This must look pretty funny," Harry said. "I mean, us like this, and all these books and quills and things …" He trailed off and stopped laughing. He'd just reached for a quill, and so had Ginny, so that they had both grabbed it and his hand was over hers. Neither of them let go. It was a similar situation to the bumping heads, but somehow very different. It wasn't amusing, for one thing. It was – sort of exciting, and intoxicating, and frightening. 

The longer the moment stretched in which they held the quill, the stranger he began to feel. His pulse was racing. He was looking right into her eyes – they were partly surprised, party scared, partly he didn't know what, and there was a little crease between her brows. Her eyes were green like his, with a spattering of brown – hazel, he supposed, but it didn't seem right to define it like that. Her eyes – they were a colour unto themselves. He became very aware of how close her face was to his.

She had her hair in a ponytail that day, and it was coming loose about her temples. Quite unconsciously, without any real awareness of what he was doing, he stretched out his free hand and tucked a strand behind her ear. She shivered when he touched her. 

"Hey!" came a startled voice. "Potter, you alright?"

Neither of them moved for a moment, and then Harry stood slowly. Ginny sat back on her heels. 

It was Draco. He'd clearly just stepped out of _Flourish & Blotts_, and was striding over to them.

"Looks like you had a fall," he said to Ginny, a bit uncertainly. 

Ginny nodded.

"Yeah," Harry said lamely, thinking (not for the first time in his life) _Damn you, Malfoy. _ "She – fell. We were just picking everything up."  

"Right," said Draco. He bent down and began to gather her texts, and this simple motion launched Harry and Ginny into action too. They had everything in hand in a matter of seconds. 

"Well, goodbye again," Draco said when they were done, a bit stiffly. 

"Bye, Malfoy." 

He left. 

Harry began to wish he'd come back, because he really didn't know what to say. Clearly, neither did Ginny. Quite frankly, he wanted to kiss her, but he was afraid of what she might do – that she might slap him and then tell her brothers to beat him up (which he had no doubt they would do if asked). Or maybe just look embarrassed and say she only wanted to be friends. 

He was scared, basically. Shitless. He was scared that after so many things going wrong in his life, this would end up being just another one for the list. 

Harry's conscious mind didn't know this, of course. Harry's conscious mind only knew that he couldn't think of a thing to say to Ginny, and that the situation was becoming more and more uncomfortable by the second. 

"Ginny …" he said finally. 

She cut him off. "It's nearly one o'clock," she said, not looking at him. "Let's go find the others."

She walked briskly ahead of him, and all he could do was follow, mentally slapping his forehead. 

~~~

A long one… I'm tired now, I'll update again soon for anybody who's out there reading this thing … Review, chickens! ~no more 3x5s~  Shezzly XXOO


	8. Visiting

*I'm a gun today – look at me updating! Hehe … thanks RaeJen, I actually read one of your stories before and was highly entertained. Go the fluff – this chappy's a bit sadder, I'm afraid. R&R … ~nm3x5s~

~~~

Hermione was waiting on the steps of the library, as promised, with a fretful frown on her face. Ron was standing behind her with his arms folded, tapping his foot. When she saw Ginny, and Harry close behind, her features immediately softened with relief. She poked Ron, who looked up and waved at them.

Ginny took the stairs so fast that Harry practically had to run to catch up.

"Hey, what's happening, good ice-cream?" Ginny said quickly as she reached Hermione and Ron. 

"Ah – yes," Ron said, a bit suspicious and squinting at Harry. Harry looked at his shoes. Hermione, catching the tension, immediately initiated an in-depth discussion of the library's new layout, which was boring enough to distract Ron. 

"Let's not _talk_ about it, anymore," he groaned. "What did you two do?"  

"Er – bought books," Harry said, gesturing with his shoulder at Ginny's pile, and lifting the paper bag of quills and ink he carried. 

"That all?"

"We bumped into Malfoy."  
Ron's jaw tightened. He shared his sister's views about the Malfoys, but Hermione's disapproving look stopped him saying anything. 

"What's he doing? Is his arm better yet?" Hermione asked, concerned. 

"Hope his arm falls off," Ron muttered, luckily out of Hermione's earshot.

"It's still in bandages. He seems alright."

At this point, Ron and Hermione, with the kind of telepathic communication they'd developed, looked at one another. 

"Shall we ask?" Ron said. 

Hermione bit her lip. "I still don't know if it's such a good idea."  
_Merlin,_ Harry thought wildly. '_Mione's told him I like Ginny and is about to spill the beans, or ask us something terribly embarrassing, though I can't think what that might be right at the moment. _

Ron turned to Harry. "I don't know," he said. "You're the closest to him, so I guess it's up to you. We thought we might go and see Dumbledore in St Mungo's."  
_Oh_, was Harry's first thought. _Not about Ginny. _

Voldemort was his second. If it wasn't for him, Dumbledore would be up and about right now, getting ready to return to Hogwarts for another year. He'd be alright. He wouldn't be – sick. 

"Harry?" Hermione asked uncertainly. Even Ginny, who he didn't think he'd ever be able to look at again, was staring at him worriedly. 

"I'm fine," he said shortly. "Sure, we can go and see him."

"Really?" Ron asked. 

"Really. Sure. It'll be good to see him." He paused. "Are we allowed?"

"Mum said we shouldn't, but technically visitors are OK, I think."

"What if they don't let us in?" said Ginny, speaking for the first time since her super-speed opening line. 

Ron snorted. "He's Harry Potter," he said, jerking his head Harry's way. "Who's not going to let him in?"

"We thought we'd Apparate," said Hermione. "We've all done our test, right? Oh, but what if we splinch ourselves? _What then_?" she wailed suddenly, plucking at Ron's arm. 

He took her by the shoulders and looked her in the eye. "Hermione, if we're splinched, we're splinched," he said solemnly. "And at least we're headed for St Mungo's, where they've got the best chance of un-splinching us as anywhere."

It was a good point, and Hermione seemed mollified. 

"Well," said Ron, "Let's put your things away in a library locker and then – shall we go?"

"What, now?" asked Harry, a bit taken aback. He wasn't even sure he really wanted to do this, and they were leaving _now_?

"When else?"

"I don't know." He glanced sidelong at Ginny, who was studiously looking away. He hardened himself. _He's just an sick, old man_, said inner monologue. _You can handle that, can't you?_ "Alright."

The carried Ginny's things inside, easily found a spare locker, and then came back out onto the steps again. Harry was the first to initiate their departure.

"I guess I'll – see you there."

"Bye."

"Bye."

Harry concentrated, Apparated, was momentarily afraid that he'd splinched himself as he felt a sharp pain in his shin, and then realised that he was standing against the sharp edge of a chair. Embarrassed, he backed away from it, and then jumped when he heard a soft trill. 

He turned. Standing on a perch beside him was Fawkes. He looked luminous, in his mid-stage, young and healthy and vibrant. Harry stroked his tail feathers and Fawkes cooed happily. He didn't want to look to the hospital bed, because he knew exactly who would be there. 

He looked anyway. There was Dumbledore, lying unconscious, very thin and sick. He hadn't seen him before – he'd heard, in whispers, that he didn't look well – but this was beyond even his imagination. He looked so pale, and so … empty. That was it. He didn't look like Dumbledore anymore. 

There was a loud crack, and Ginny Apparated beside him. She had her eyes shut tight. A few seconds after appearing, she opened them cautiously. The first thing she saw was Harry's grim face, and the second was Dumbledore. She gasped, and covered her mouth with her hand.

Harry moved closer to the bed. He could hear Dumbledore's rattling, shallow breathing – he sounded like he could slip away any minute. Harry stood beside him and hesitantly touched a hand. It was rough, an old man's hand, but also burning with sickly heat. 

Harry clenched his jaw. He was angry. He was so angry, he wanted to smash something. _Voldemort_, he thought. _Voldemort did this. Voldemort killed my parents and my friends, and Voldemort did this. _

"Harry," Ginny said nervously, putting a hand on his shoulder. He whipped around to face her. 

"Fucking Voldemort!" he spat. 

She started, and then regained composure. "Listen …" she began, but he couldn't stand to hear her pity too, and exploded. 

"No, you listen! You fucking listen, because I can't take it anymore! I killed him, but he's still alive, isn't he? He's still alive – in all of this! He did this to Dumbledore. Look how sick he is! He's never going to wake up. He took my parents away from me before I even knew who they were. He took Sirius, he took Lupin. He took your brother. He just took and took and took – and then he made me kill him. I killed him. Fuck, he made me kill him."

And with that, he found himself sobbing – great wracking sobs that made his whole body shake. He was so ashamed he couldn't look up, but just closed his eyes and wished he could stop. 

Moments passed, and then he felt a soft hand on his forehead, and another around the back of his neck. 

"Open your eyes," Ginny said. 

He did so, still crying, and saw that Ginny was crying too. 

"I'm so sorry," she said. "I'm sorry that happened to you."  
He looked into her face, her wet cheeks and bright eyes, and was convinced that she was the most beautiful thing he'd ever seen. He couldn't stop himself – he leaned forward and kissed her, hard, feeling her tears against his.

She didn't do anything at first, didn't move, and then was kissing him back, her hands in his hair. His slid his hands into hers  – it was soft, and warm, he could smell it again, and it made him dizzy. Her tongue was touching his.

They broke apart briefly. 

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Ginny said, her voice hoarse. 

"Oh yes," Harry replied fervently. He kissed her again. Fawkes cried out softly. She tasted so good, he didn't ever want to _stop_ kissing her, but after a while he remembered air and had to halt briefly to breathe. He touched his forehead to her forehead and felt a tingling in his scar. 

"Harry," she said, on an exhale. She wiped away the tears on his face with her thumbs. 

"Ginny," he said in reply. He smiled shakily. She smiled too. 

"We're right in front of Dumbledore," she said after a long, quiet moment. 

"I know. I'm sorry I yelled at you."

"It's alright."

"I wish I hadn't."

"I want you to. I want you to tell me everything." She kissed him once more, softly, slowly, so that he felt like his spine was melting. "I don't want you to be sad anymore."

_I'll always be sad_ said his inner monologue bitterly. 

_But less so_, he thought back, _with her. _

She threw her arms around him and hugged him hard. Ron and Hermione chose this moment to step into the room, arguing fiercely. 

"Hey, I'm not the only one who went to Dumbly Door's sick-room instead of Dumbledore's. I'm not the only one who forgot to think his first name," Ron was protesting. 

"Well it's just lucky they were at the same hospital, isn't it? And you _were_ the one who led us down precisely the wrong corridor."

Ron, not listening anymore, hushed her and pointed at Harry and Ginny. Neither of them appeared to have heard their argument. 

"What's this?" Ron said wonderingly. 

"Harry?" Hermione asked loudly, a bit tentative. 

Harry and Ginny jumped and broke apart. It was clear they'd been crying. 

"Hi," he said. "You found us."

"Yeah. Are you – OK?"

"Fine," he said, raising his chin a bit defiantly. He looked at Ginny. "We're fine."

Ron put his hands on his hips, and for a moment looked distinctly like his mother. "Is there anything here I should know about?" he said pointedly. 

Harry looked at Ginny, who shook her head imperceptibly. He didn't want to tell them either – not yet, at least. It had been such a personal thing, it wouldn't feel right to just blurt it out right there, right then. 

"Nothing," Harry said. 

"No, nothing," Ginny repeated. 

Then Ron and Hermione saw Dumbledore, properly, and forgot all about Harry and Ginny. They moved to his bedside, Hermione with tears welling up in her eyes. Ron put his arm around her. Harry stood against the wall, looking alternately at Ginny and Dumbledore, and didn't know what to feel. 

They stayed in Dumbledore's room for almost an hour. Then a nurse found them there, and they were ordered out.

  
 


	9. Meeting

They met Fred and George, as arranged, at _The Leaky Cauldron _at five o'clock – the matron at St Mungo's, once she saw Harry Potter (and had him autograph something, much to Harry's discomfiture), let them use the hospital staff room's fireplace to go by Floo powder. They were still five minutes late, however, and when they arrived, were practically leapt upon by Fred and George. 

Fred was patting Ron up and down like a customs official. "You all there? George, check Ginny!"

"Don't!" Ginny shrieked and grabbed Harry's arm. It sent a shiver from the back of his neck to the base of his spine. 

Fred and George eventually stepped back, looking – no matter how much they tried to cushion it with jokes – very relieved. 

"Where've you all been today?" George asked conversationally after they'd fetched some Floo Powder from the barman (Ron and Hermione had clamoured not to go by Apparition). "We barely saw the light of day."

"Too busy raking in the galleons," Fred crowed, flexing his fingers. 

Hermione and Ron did their telepathy thing again, and then Ron nodded and Hermione told them about Dumbledore. The twins were first impressed, and second subdued. They loved Dumbledore as much as the next Hogwarts graduate (and there'd always been a special place in his heart for those two particular hair-raisers). 

"Well, well," said George sadly. "Just goes to show, doesn't it? Nothing's what you think it is."

"You're right," said Harry. He looked at Ginny out of the corner of his eye. She was smiling to herself. He really, really wanted to touch her. He couldn't wait till they were out of there. 

"Anybody want a Butterbeer?" Fred suggested. 

"No!" Harry said immediately. Everybody looked at him. "I mean – I'm tired," he added, rather unconvincingly. 

"Aw, little Harrykins didn't sleep well," said Fred and George, almost simultaneously. That set them laughing, which set the others laughing, which took the spotlight (damned spotlight) off Harry. 

"Come on, then," George said, flinging powder into the fire. "The Burrow," he said clearly, stepping inside and disappearing. 

Fred went next, and then Ginny. Harry watched her disappear into the flames with a roiling in his stomach. He followed her into the fireplace. When he turned to face the room and pronounce his destination, he saw Hermione looking at him with an unsettlingly knowing expression. _Could _she know? 

"The Burrow," he said loudly, shaking off his uncertainty. There was the usual rush and then he was stumbling into the Weasley's kitchen, with Ginny brushing ash from his clothes. 

"Where's Fred and George?" he said quickly. 

"Already upstairs."

"Your mum?"

"Outside giving the garden gnomes a bash."

"We really need to talk."

"I know."

"Ginny –"

The flames sprang up, and Ron and Hermione stepped out together. Hermione was coughing. 

"Remind me never to – *cough cough* – go tandem with you on the Floo network again."

"Tandem, eh?" he said, raising his eyebrows suggestively. 

She tried to look disgusted, but failed and laughed instead. She turned to Harry and Ginny. "What are you doing now?"

"I should really go finish by Defence Against the Dark Arts essay," Ginny said, quite unexpectedly Harry thought. 

"I could help you," he offered. "I got an O on my N.E.W.Ts."

She smiled. "Thanks, but I'm OK. See you later. See you later, guys." She waved at Ron and Hermione and headed for her room, taking the stairs two at a time. 

Now, this bothered him. First she wanted him to talk to her. Then he kissed her. Now _he_ wants to talk to her and suddenly she's backing right off. His confusion must have shown on his face, because Ron asked him what was wrong. 

"Nothing," he said. "Feel a bit sick from the ride back."

Ron slapped him on the back. "Nothing a bit of quidditch won't fix," he said heartily. "Hermione, you playing?"

She screwed up her nose. "No thanks." Then she looked at Harry. "Maybe quidditch will do you some good," she said, and widened her eyes meaningfully. "It's all a question of _timing _really."

Was that a message? Hermione made another face as if to say 'You get me?' _A question of timing, hey?_ mused inner monologue. Maybe she was right. The talk with Ginny could wait a bit – not too long, but a bit.

Ron shook his head at her. "Honey, what are you talking about?"

Hermione stopped looking at Harry and stared at Ron. 

"What?" he asked, bewildered (and a little scared, Harry thought).

"Did you just call me 'honey'?" she said quietly. 

"Er –" He looked at Harry, who wasn't getting involved. "Yes?"

"Ron," she said, and then launched herself at him. He was thrown off-balance at first, but then put his arms around her. "You've never called me anything like that before!"

"You like it?"

"It's nice." She pulled back a bit to look at him. "Not too often, mind – but now and again, it's nice."

She hugged him once more and kissed his ear. He went red and looked pleased. "I'll do it every day if I get this kind of reception."

Hermione released him and headed for the stairs.

"Have fun, boys," she said over her shoulder. Ron grinned up at her with a ridiculous, puppy-dog, I'd-walk-through-fire-for-you expression, and then quickly cleared his throat and said: "Come on, broomsticks."

Harry couldn't be bothered to fetch his _Ascendant _(despite Ron's pestering – he wanted a go on it) so they played on the old _Cleansweeps. _It was nice and lazy, just throwing the quaffle around while the sun set. Harry felt oddly calm after his outburst in the hospital. It was like he'd been purged. He hadn't said nearly all of the things he thought, but it had been so good to get that terrible feeling out. He felt like you sometimes do after you've thrown up – like you're cleaned out and ready to start being well again.  

"Oi," Harry called, feeling philosophical and tossing Ron the quaffle. 

"What?"Ron caught it easily.  __

"Do you love Hermione?" 

Ron barely paused before throwing the ball back. "'Course," he said gruffly. 

"How did you know?"

"Bloody hell," Ron said, laughing a bit and looking embarrassed. 

"Sorry," Harry said, realising what a personal question it was. "Don't answer that."

"No, it's OK." Ron scratched his head, and Harry tucked the quaffle under his arm, suddenly very interested to hear Ron's answer. "Well," he said eventually, "she was asleep in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor common room one night, textbooks open all around her – it was right before the N.E.W.Ts, I think – and she was shivering because the fire had gone out. Anyway, I was passing through to go to bed. I saw her, and I looked at her for a minute, then I went to my room, took the blanket off my bed, brought it back and put it over her. I guess that's when I knew – because I'd rather be cold than let her be cold. You know?"

Ron had said all this mostly to the ground, frowning thoughtfully. When he looked up, Harry was staring at him, dumbstruck. 

"Shit," he said, flushing. "I sound like a twat."

"You should tell Hermione that," was all Harry could say. He'd never heard Ron talk like that. Ever. 

"Nah," Ron said. He held out his hands for the ball, and Harry obediently threw it. Ron caught it and tossed it up in the air a few times. "I don't need to tell her. She knows."

Mrs Weasley had finished with the garden gnomes, and chose this point to shout up at them. 

"Boys! Come down here! You can help me with dinner!"

"There we go," Ron grimaced. "Come on, the sooner we help, the sooner we can get out."

He headed for the ground. Harry followed, suddenly seeing Ron – his best friend, almost his brother – in a whole different light.   

~

After dinner, Fred and George set up a game of Wizard's Chess, which they promptly enlarged (with enthusiastic cries of "_Engorgio! Engorgio!_") until they were as big as people. Mrs Weasley let them be – it was scaring off the gnomes, at least. Everybody was out watching besides Ginny, who was upstairs again, working. 

"I've never known that girl for putting so much time into her schoolwork," Mrs Weasley remarked to Hermione. "It's remarkable. It must be your influence, dear."

"Er – must be," Hermione said, laughing uneasily. 

Harry couldn't pay much attention to the chess. All he thought about was Ginny, her salty tears, the taste of her. He tried to push his very recent memories down (along with something else, which was pinching his jeans a bit), but eventually it was too much. He realised that this was actually a good moment to find her – everyone else was outside, involved in the game.

"I might go to bed," Harry said to Ron. "I'm buggered."

"Right," Ron said, a bit surprised but not unhappy. This way he had Hermione all to himself. "G'night, then."

"Night," Hermione agreed, and surreptitiously winked at him. 

Harry slipped into the house. It was very quiet without all the people, like in the early mornings. He liked it. He felt the need to match the silence, and tried to go softly up the stairs. It was useless – they creaked. When he reached Ginny's room, she'd opened the door before he even knocked. 

"Hey," she said. 

"Hey. Can I come in?"

"Yes."

He went in, and shut the door. She stood at perhaps a metre's distance from him. 

"So," he said awkwardly. "I like your room."

"You've mentioned."

"Very nice."

She shrugged. "Not really. It's OK."

"No, no," he insisted. "It's – nice."

She nodded. "How was quidditch this afternoon?"

"You saw us?"

"Out the window."

"I thought you were doing your essay."

"I was. Mostly. I perved a little."

"Right."

He grinned at her. She bit her lip. 

"Ginny," he said in a strangled voice.

"Yes, Harry?"

"Would you mind if I kissed you right now?"

She practically ran forward, forgetting to answer, and then he was pressed up against the door, her tongue in his mouth and on his lips. He could taste her, that same taste, and pumpkin from dinner as well, or maybe that was him. He didn't know, he didn't care. She was amazing. She was pressed up against him too, and frankly it wasn't doing him much good in the way of control.

"Ginny," he said breathlessly. "Merlin."

"Don't stop," was all she could manage. He kissed her neck, not really sure where he was going to go with this as he headed for her collarbone, but knowing that it'd be hell or high water, or Ginny herself, who'd have to stop him now.

She tilted her head back and his mouth kissed down to her top blouse button, just under the hollow in her neck. He slipped his arms around her waist. He didn't want to go too far or freak her out, especially not right away like this, but she felt so good – 

_Stop it, Potter_, snapped inner monologue. _You came here to talk and you're going to talk, dammit._

"Wait," he said, pushing her back gently. He swallowed and tried to get his breath and everything Down There under control. He didn't have much luck when he looked at her, so he closed his eyes instead. 

"Ginny," he said, eyes still closed. "We should talk about this."

"I know," she said. "You're right."

"Right." He cleared his throat, and opened them again. "Do you want to be with me?"

"Yes," she said. 

Well, that was good – he didn't know what to say now. 

"Do you want to be with me?" she asked. 

_Yes, by God, _he thought feverishly. "Of course," he said out loud. 

She smiled. She looked like she might cry. "Really?"

"Really." He touched her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?"

"I want you to be sure," she said. "Really, really sure. I don't want you to look back on this, and think I was a mistake."

"I could never think that," he said honestly. "You're the opposite to a mistake."

She bit her lip again. She looked so good when she did that. "If anything goes wrong between us," she said, "what'll happen with you and Ron?"

"We'll make do," Harry said firmly. 

"And Hermione?"

"We'll _make do_, Ginny. It'll be alright."

"If you want this to have been just a fun little snog, we can leave it at that. I don't mind, if that's what you want. We can make it the end of things."

"Ginny. You _know_ that's not want I want."

The further they went, the more afraid she seemed. "Why now?" she asked suddenly. 

"What?"

"Why now? Why not before? Why do you want to be with me now?"

Harry knew he had to answer this truthfully – and right – or he'd have blown it. He sensed the importance of the question. Problem was, he didn't really know himself. He thought for several seconds, very hard, and very carefully. Finally, he opened his mouth and said:

"Because we need each other."

He didn't know where that had come from exactly – he wasn't usually the poetic type – but once he'd said it he knew it was exactly what he felt. They needed each other. That was it.

He moved forward and kissed her again, softly, and she leant against him. He loved that he could hold her like this.  

"Are we going to tell people?" she said after a few minutes. 

"Do you want to?"

"I don't know." 

"Maybe not for a while," said Harry. "I think I'd better check out your brothers first."

Ginny giggled. "I think you'd better. Ron'll probably be OK."

"Merlin knows," Harry said. "You just never can tell with Ron."

She kissed him again, and he was reciprocating enthusiastically, when she forcibly restrained herself. "We should probably stop," she said. 

"You're right," he agreed. His head knew she was right. The rest of him wasn't so sure. 

"I don't want things to get out of hand," Ginny went on.

"Of course." And he was blushing now, and she could see he was blushing. 

"Night, Ginny," he said hurriedly, and opened the door. 

"Night, Harry."

She shut the door quietly. 

Harry went directly to his and Ron's room and flopped back onto his mattress, unable to suppress a grin. 

_That went very well_, said inner monologue. 

"Sirius," he said aloud, looking up at the ceiling, "if you could see me, you'd be proud."


	10. Picnicking

A/N *Hey – thanks for reviews. He's talking about Voldemort, Melindaleo – I was kind of going with the idea that a) Harry would be quite traumatised about having to kill someone in cold-blood like that, even if it _was_ Voldemort and b) that Voldemort and everything he did isn't just going to disappear overnight, with his death. So yes, _physically_ he's dead, but he still kind of 'lives on' in the after-effects in everybody else's lives (including Dumbledore's illness) … which is kind of what Harry was saying … and yes, I know Harry is swearing a bit – it always irks me that they don't swear in the book very much, 'cos I'm sure they would … but when I read back on it, he did manage to slip the F-word in there a tad more than I thought he had, hehe, so I'll ease back a bit. (Am still deciding whether or not Malfoy will come into this again. Kind of just wanted to clear his name, is you will, because I've always thought he's deeper than JKR suggests.) Anyway, we all clear? Thanks for reading, my love goes out to ya J PS – Melindaleo again, don't know what's going down with the chapters, they're just being arses, and are taking a while to update… OK, very sorry, let's go with the story now! PPS – Anybody who can spot the shout-out to John Mayer in this chapter wins – erm – my undying respect? Hehe … PPPS – I know, I said I'd go away but I just thought of something – they _Accio_ed Ginny's stuff from the locker after they got home (whoops… yes I am a completely-in-control author). ~nm3x5s~

Harry came downstairs at about half past seven the next morning, still a bit sleepy. The first thing he saw was Fred at the stove – with a frying pan full of bacon and eggs.

"Fred?" Harry said in disbelief.

Fred spun around. He was wearing one of his mum's flowery aprons. 

"All can be explained," he said, a bit desperately. 

Harry grinned. "Why are you cooking?"

"Angelina's coming over," Fred said. "And I said I'd cook. Except I don't know how, really. And I don't want to tell Mum, because she'd flip out that Ange was coming over at all. So I thought – she's coming in the morning, morning's breakfast time, what's one of the few things I can make? Why, bacon and eggs, Fred. And so – here I am. Let's hear it for me." He used a pair of metal tongs to turn the bacon over. 

"Why don't you just use magic?"

Fred shrugged helplessly. "Me and George never bothered to learn household spells, apart from the Temporary Invisibility charm – that made our rooms look like they were clean if Mum was on the war-path."  
Harry laughed. "Where _is_ George?"

"He's gone back to London to watch the shop with Lee."

Harry was momentarily dumbstruck. "So it's – just you here?"

Fred grinned over his shoulder at him. "For today."

"Right." A Weasley twin all on his own – what a bizarre concept. Still, it was good. It meant that for a day at least, it was one less person to worry about bumping into with Ginny. 

_Ginny,_ sighed inner monologue. A memory came back – like the others, which were less violent lately (A/N see Chap 1 if you've forgotten) – in a sudden rush. Ginny wanted to be with him. 

"Oi. Potter." Harry jerked as he heard his name. Fred was looking at him quizzically, one eyebrow raised. "You alright there, poppet?"

"Fine." He looked out the window, and could see a small figure approaching in the distance. "I think Angelina's on her way."

"Oh, crap," Fred said, carefully putting his frying pan down before struggling out of the apron. He thrust it at Harry. "Hide this," he said firmly. Out the window, she was closer – her features could clearly be seen, including the big smile on her face. "Go, go," Fred insisted. Harry went up the stairs again and was back in his and Ron's room before he realised he hadn't got any breakfast. 

~

An hour later, Ron was up too, and searching wearily for his pants. Harry was reading the 1997 Chudley Cannons Album. There was a knock at the door, and Harry immediately closed his book. 

"Come in," he said. 

Hermione and Ginny entered. Ron froze, pantless, like a deer in headlights.

"Hermione," he hissed. "Go back, I'm getting dressed."

"Don't be silly," Hermione scoffed, and went to sit on his bed. Ginny hovered in the doorway, looking a bit uncertain. Harry stared at her, trying to look like he wasn't staring at her. She was wearing what she'd been wearing the day they flew. 

"So," he said casually, as Ron pulled on his jeans. "What are you two doing today?"

Hermione looked at Ron, who shrugged. "Don't know."

"Ginny?" he asked, feeling a bit tense now. 

She smiled and shrugged too. 

"Well, if you want to go off, Ron and Hermione, Ginny and I will keep each other company …" 

Ginny interrupted him. "I've got a better idea. Why don't we all go out picnicking? I couldn't come last time."  
_Bad idea_ thought Harry desperately. _I want just you_. Ginny was avoiding his eye. 

Ron looked at Hermione, who was looking at Harry as if to say 'Only if you don't mind'. Harry ended up raising his arms and smiling in what he hoped was a convincingly inviting way. 

"Alright," said Hermione. "That sounds lovely. I'll get shoes." She ducked out.

"Shall we invite Fred and George?" asked Ron. 

"Fred's having breakfast with Angelina in the kitchen, and George is in London," Harry announced. He stood up. "How about Ginny and I get the brooms ready?" Before Ron could offer his help, Harry took her by the arm and marched her down the stairs. He waited until they were outside before he spoke.

"What was that?" he said in her ear. 

"That," she said, shaking him off, "was me being sensible."

"Oh, really? Sensible." 

"Yes, _sensible_," she repeated, sounding a little angry now. "Remember what happened yesterday? We were kissing up against my door, and you'd only just asked me to go out with you."

"Yeah," Harry mumbled, thinking _It didn't seem so bad to me._

"Harry," she said patiently, outside the shed door. "I don't want us to be just about – that. I want to know you. I want to know everything about you."

"Me too," he said honestly. 

"And – I don't think if we're snogging every five minutes, I'm going to hear much of what you're telling me about yourself."  
_Good point_ acknowledged inner monologue. "True," said Harry aloud. 

"So you see, don't you?"

"I think so." Why did she have to be so bloody right? 

And then she blushed and looked at her sneaker-ed feet. "I just don't trust myself around you."  
That made Harry grin. He scratched his head. "That's OK," Harry said. "Let's just … go slow."

They turned as Ron came out the door, whispering in Hermione's ear. Hermione was giggling and nudging him with a shoulder. 

"That's not to say," Harry went on quickly, turning to face Ginny again and speaking in what he hoped was a conversational tone, "that there won't be any more – you know."

She shook her head at him. "You're incorrigible," she said. 

"No I'm not," protested Harry. "I want to know you too. And it's not really about the snogging, though that's nice. Just – I want you all to myself. I want to spend time with just us."  
Ginny started to smile, when Ron and Hermione stepped between them and sallied forth through the open shed door. "Come on," called Ron. "Let's go, already."  
Harry and Ginny looked at each other.

_OK_, Harry thought, his heart beating faster. _I can handle this._

~

They passed the day lazily, lying on the grass, chatting about nothing. Hermione lay with her head in Ron's lap, and it was torture for Harry to watch Ginny, sitting opposite him with her legs crossed. He didn't know how he'd managed it before – because it seemed to him that he'd felt this way about Ginny since before_ he_ even knew it. Maybe that he always had. He physically couldn't remember what it was like to look at her, and not want to touch her or talk to her. 

When Ron and Hermione went for a swim, Ginny crawled over to sit next to Harry. She took his hand. 

"Hi," she said. 

"Hi."

She paused. "So talk to me."

"What about?"

"I don't mind." She lay back on the grass and he did too, their fingers enlaced. "Tell me about before you came to Hogwarts."

His expression immediately darkened. "You don't want to hear about that," he said.

"Yes I do," she said firmly. "I want to hear about it."  
He looked at her. She was serious, and he thought suddenly, _I want to tell her. _ "Alright," he said, and then found himself speaking about the ten years he spent at the Dursley's – the humiliations, the loneliness – the stuff he'd never told anybody else. She was a very good listener. She never interrupted unless it was to ask a gentle question about some point in particular, and he found himself saying things he hadn't thought he'd _ever_ say out loud.

Half an hour later, he trailed off. She was frowning at him.

"What?" he said. 

"You look sad again." She rolled onto her front, leant forward, and kissed him between the brows. He desperately wanted to grab her and kiss her again, but forced himself to calm. 

_Go slow_, he thought. _Go slow. _

She fell onto her back again, and looked at him happily. 

"Now you," he said. 

"Me what?"

"Tell me about what it's like to grow up at The Burrow?"

"The Burrow," she said, and told him. 

When she was finished, he pulled their linked hands up to his mouth and kissed her thumb (after a failed attempt in which he only managed to kiss his own), and they both lay for a while in silence. 

Ron and Hermione came up the hill then, dressed, their hair still wet. Both were blushing furiously. Harry and Ginny quickly released one another's hands and sat up.

"What's going on there?" muttered Ginny.

Harry shrugged. 

"Come on," Hermione said, reaching them. "Let's go." 

"Er – OK." Harry jogged to his broomstick and mounted it. He looked behind him. Ginny was ready, but Hermione was standing in front of Ron a little distance away. Ron had hold of both her wrists and was talking at a furious pace. Finally, she nodded and hugged him. He kissed the top of her head, looking relieved. 

Harry resolved to find out what that was all about once they were home. 

"Let's go," he shouted, once Ron and Hermione were onboard Ron's broomstick. 

Ginny kicked off first. He followed her into the sky, and the others brought up the rear. 

~

There was an hour before dinner, so everyone trouped off to their respective rooms. As soon as the door to Harry and Ron's was shut, Ron threw himself down on his bed and covered his face with his hands.

"What happened?" Harry asked uncertainly. 

"Jeez," said Ron. He took his hands away, and looked at Harry. "Jeez."

Now he was interested. Harry moved to sit on Ron's bed. "What happened?" he repeated. 

"Well," began Ron, but then began to blush again. "I can't," he said. 

"Tell me," Harry insisted. "Merlin, it can't be that bad. Did you fight?"

"Well, kind of," said Ron. "No. Everything was going alright. Hermione had done _Accio Bathing Suits_ so we could swim. So we did – swim, I mean." 

He stopped. Harry prodded him in the leg. "Then what?"

"Well then – I guess we were fooling about a bit – and we were holding each other in the water, right?"

"Right," said Harry, feeling distinctly uncomfortable now, but wanting to hear the end of the story. 

"And – and suddenly – we didn't have our bathing suits. We'd vanished them, by accident. Sort of unconsciously, you know? Like before Hogwarts, when you do magic without meaning to, just because you – well, you want something, don't you? And it was actually a few moments before we even really noticed. But when Hermione did, she freaked out, and then _I _noticed, and it was just – awful. She was upset."

"Oh," said Harry awkwardly.

"Well, of course she was upset. I think she thought _I'd_ done it for a moment there, but then I talked to her, and I'm pretty sure she was even more embarrassed once she realised it was both of us." He groaned and put his pillow over his face. Harry took it away from him. 

"Well, you looked like you'd sorted it out before. This is no reason to smother yourself," he said. Then he hesitated, wondering if he should say anything. "Maybe – it's a sign."

"A sign of what?"

"That you're ready. For – you know."  
Ron sighed. "I don't know. I was bloody ready then, I can tell you, but I really don't want to push her."

Harry and Ron were silent a moment. Harry considered bringing up the whole Ginny issue, but thought it was probably not a good time. 

"Come on," he said. "Cheer up."

"Can't," Ron muttered. 

"Come on," Harry said again. "It's dinner in a minute. And maybe you can talk to her properly after that."

Ron brightened a little. "Yeah, maybe." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and took a deep breath. "OK," he said. "It's fine. Let's go now."

~

After dinner, Ron did manage to drag Hermione out of the house to talk. She seemed reluctant – Harry didn't think she wanted to revisit the whole incident – but eventually complied. Harry and Ginny sat on the floor in Ginny's room. 

"She told you?" Harry asked. 

"Of course. He told you?"

"Yeah. I was a bit weirded out, actually."

She giggled. "Me too. Ah well. They'll sort it out. I'm pretty sure they'll get married one day, really, and then they won't care at all." She looked sideways at Harry. "Isn't that funny, to think that Ron and Hermione could end up together?"

"No," he said, half-smiling. "It's not funny at all. It's exactly right."

"Mm," she said. She moved closer to him and he put his arm around her. "This feels exactly right," she murmured sleepily. 

Harry thought so too. "How do you think our first day together went, then?" he asked eventually. 

"Good," she said. "Considering we weren't _together_, together."

"Hey, that's your fault, not mine."

"I know. I'm glad. I liked talking to you."

"I liked talking to you." He wanted to explain to her how he felt, but wasn't sure he could. "I've always liked talking to you," he said finally. 

She tilted her head to look at him. "Really?"  
Harry shrugged. "You know how to say what's right. And you make me feel better."  

She sighed into the region of his chest. "This is nice," she said. "I hope things just stay like this, for a while."

~

I'm not a big fan of this chappy, but you wanted fluff, so here's a plateful. J R&R darlinks!_  
_


	11. Planning

For the rest of the week, things followed along the same sort of lines. Ron, Hermione, Harry and Ginny would fly out, find a decent spot, and basically camp there for a day. They played a bit of two-on-two quidditch every now and again (Hermione and Ron lost every time – no matter how talented Hermione was, she'd never gotten the hang of quidditch, and Harry didn't think she ever would). They talked a lot. 

A couple of days after Ron and Hermione's incident, Harry managed to get Ron alone when the girls went off together. 

"So," he said, "you guys seem back to normal."  
Ron shrugged. "Mm. Yeah."

"What happened?"

"We talked about it."

Long silence. 

"And?" Harry prompted. 

"And everything's OK."

"But are you going to – you know?"

"Would you stop calling it 'you know', Harry, for Merlin's sake?" Ron snapped irritably. "Are we going to have sex? Don't know. Maybe."

"Sorry," Harry said, taken aback. 

Ron sighed. "It's OK. Sorry, too. Just got a lot on my plate at the moment."

"What do you mean?"

"It'll be a year since Percy died next week. Wednesday. Dad wants us to go out to the cemetery, and I don't want to go. And then all this stuff with 'Mione, and then all she's talked about for the past week is university and job offers, and I don't know if I'll get_ anything_. Remember how shoddy my N.E.W.Ts were."

It was true that Hermione wouldn't shut up about their letters. Even Harry knew Ron was touchy about it, but Hermione just didn't catch on when it came to things like that. 

"Why don't you want to go to the cemetery?" he asked tentatively.

Ron plucked a bit of grass and began to rip it up. "Don't know," he said shortly. 

Harry nodded. 

The girls came back soon after. Hermione, breathless from their walk, sat down and hugged Ron immediately. He looked a little happier, and Harry tried to put what he'd said out of his mind – because the same sort of things were worrying him. 

Harry loved spending time with Ginny, but it was practically impossible to get her alone. He'd never noticed before how closely the Weasleys watched the only girl in the family, and how often she was surrounded by people, but pretty soon he was thinking how lucky they were to have gone flying that first morning. That was starting to seem like a one-off, and he was getting a bit desperate. Every now and again, they'd manage a chat in his (or her) room when Ron and Hermione had scooted off, or a quick kiss in the hallway between meals, but apart from that, they were generally with Ron and 'Mione, or some other Weasley family member. 

Besides, the less _actual_ time he spent alone with her, the more time he had to _fantasise_ about being alone with her – and that really couldn't be healthy. 

He just wanted a day – one day – to spend with her, and only her. No funny business, even. Well, maybe a little funny business. But nothing out of hand. Jeez, what is too much to ask?

In the end, he approached Hermione about it. It was Saturday evening (after dinner), the end of the week. Both Fred and George were in London for the weekend (neither had moved back permanently – now their apartment had pest control issues), so Harry thought it could be the ideal time to organise a just-Harry-and-Ginny date. 

He knocked on their door hesitantly, and, to his relief, Hermione answered. 

"Hey," he said quietly. "Is Ginny in there?"

"She's showering. Do you want to see her?"

Harry immediately fought down images of Ginny showering – it could only lead to more trouble.

"No, you."

"Oh. Come in."

He went inside, and shut the door behind him. Hermione had three books open on her bed, and was copying from one. 

"What are you doing?" he asked, thinking he might have forgotten a potions essay before he remembered he wasn't at school anymore. 

"Just some research. I'm interested in the history of the Italian magical defence forces."

"Uh-huh," said Harry blankly, thinking _Only Hermione_ … 

"Was there something you wanted to talk about?"

"Well – yes." He didn't really know how to bring it up. "The thing is 'Mione – you know I love hanging out with you and Ron."  
She grinned. "Yes?"

"Yeah. But, um – well, I kind of want to spend a day with Ginny. So I thought, you know, maybe you and Ron could go off together tomorrow, and then me and Ginny could do the same."

She folded her arms. "And what do I tell Ron?"

"What do you mean?"

"About you and Ginny 'going off together'", she said, making the inverted commas with her fingers. 

"Hermione, all you have to say is you want to spend some time alone with him, and he won't care what _we're_ doing," Harry said frankly. 

Hermione flushed in embarrassment and looked at the floor. A moment later, she looked up. There was a different expression in her eye, but Harry couldn't quite place it.

"Actually, that sounds like a good idea," she said, quite unexpectedly. 

"Oh – really?"

"I think it'd be good for you. You should get out on your own. I'll tell Ron tomorrow."

"Ah – OK. Thanks, 'Mione."

"No problem," she said. 

The pipes stopped clicking overhead, which meant that Ginny's shower was over. 

"See you, Harry," Hermione said, hustling him out. She shut the door on him. Harry was left standing in the corridor, feeling inexplicably like an idiot, when Ginny stepped out of the bathroom at the end of the hall. 

She was wrapped in a towel, and her hair was wet and touching her shoulders. The towel covered just enough of her for Harry to want to see more. Her feet were bare and made flat, wet sounds when she stepped forward on the floorboards. 

"Er – Hi Harry," she said, when she saw him, stopping immediately. 

"Hello," he said. His voice was hoarse. 

"Was there – something you wanted?"

"No, I – I was just talking to Hermione. About us maybe going on separate dates tomorrow. You know, her and Ron, and me and you. Separate. If you wanted?"

She looked a bit unsure. 

"I just want to spend some time with you Ginny," Harry went on. He couldn't look at her, and spoke to his left. "I want us two to hang out for a day. It's driving me crazy."

Out of the corner of her eye, he saw her nod. "Me too," she said softly. 

He swallowed as she came a bit closer. Very close. 

"Harry," she said, when she was _so_ close that he could have kissed the tip of her nose. 

"Yes?"

"I need to get into my room now."

"Oh right. Right," he said, flushing crimson and stepping back from the door he was blocking. "Sorry."

"That's OK. Hey, where'll we go tomorrow?"

Now he met her eyes (and made sure his gaze _stayed _with her eyes). "I don't know," he said. "I'll think of somewhere."

"OK. 'Night."

"'Night."

She opened the door just far enough to slip inside. 

"Ginny," he said quickly, touching her arm. She turned back. 

"Yes?"

He kissed her. She responded immediately. Her skin was warm from the shower, and her lips tasted like steam and lip-gloss. 

"Well," she said after a while, pulling away. "OK."

He grinned. "OK. See you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," she said, and smiled back. 

She slipped inside and shut the door. Harry went to his room, feeling alternately excited and self-satisfied. 

  
  


_  
_

__


	12. Pairing Off

Harry was up early (as usual), putting food into a backpack. He wasn't as good at conjuring charms as Hermione, so he thought he ought to stock up before they left. The Weasley's house was full of food, as well, and he was having a marvellous time choosing the menu. 

He was just tipping the contents of a half-empty packet of cream biscuits into a container when George walked in through the living room. 

"Hello Harry," he said through a yawn. "What are you doing up at this ridiculous hour?"

"I could ask you the same thing."

"Peeing," George said promptly. 

_Well, there you go_, thought Harry. George had come over to the counter and was peering at Harry's bag. "Going on another picnic? I thought you usually just conjured those things."

Harry wracked his brains for a decent lie, but couldn't think of one. He had no idea how the Weasley brothers would react to him and Ginny, but they'd have to know sometime. He just wished it wasn't now. 

"Er – Hermione always does that," he said eventually. "But her and Ron are going off today, so it's just me and Ginny."

_Please don't hit me_, he thought, almost wincing already in expectation.

"Oh right," said George, nodding. "Those two. Typical randy teenagers. Well, hope young Gin doesn't cramp your style too much, Potter. Ta-ra."

He wandered upstairs in the direction of the bathroom. 

That had been very unexpected, but was a pleasant twist in circumstances. It meant he could put off – well, it was asking permission, wasn't it? – until he'd had time to compose his plea. 

Once he'd packed, it was still early, and he had a feeling Ginny wouldn't be up for a little while. He thought he'd go and give his _Ascendant _the once-over, but once he was upstairs, couldn't resist a peek into the girls' room. 

Hermione he could barely see – she was wrapped up tight in her duvet, despite it being the middle of summer, and surrounded on all sides by what looked like a book fort. He wasn't looking at her anyway. Ginny had thrown her covers off in the night and was lying on one side, her arm outstretched and her fingers gently curled. Her hair was spread wildly over her pillow, and her mouth was slightly open. 

He smiled at her. He couldn't help himself. His insides felt kind of warm and squishy. He wanted to go and brush her hair back, and talk to her in bed, but knew it might scare her if she woke up to him standing there. Instead, he shut the door and padded back to his own room. 

Once he was there, he gave his broom a full service, using every implement in his Repair Kit – but all he really saw was sleeping Ginny. 

~

At about nine, he was in the air, testing his _Ascendant _for balance, when Ginny came out of the kitchen. She was wearing shorts, a singlet and her usual, worn sneakers. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun, which he loved immediately, mostly for the little bits that were sneaking their way out of the hair-band. 

She waved up at him, and then pushed those same little bits back with her other hand, quite irritably. He swooped down to her, feeling self-conscious. 

"Good morning," he said. She shook her head at him as if to say, 'You show-off.'

"Harry Potter," she said instead. "How long have you been up?"

He was still hovering, and slowly touched down as he answered. "Ages. I'm always early since …"

Since I killed Voldemort whispered inner monologue. He thrust the thought away. He almost never thought of Voldemort these days, suppressing the memories fiercely and constantly. He didn't want to spoil this new-found happiness. 

Ginny understood, and changed the subject. 

"I don't know if I can conjure a picnic basket as good as Hermione's," she said doubtfully. 

"It's alright," he said quickly, glad to be on easier conversational ground, and dismounted. "My backpack's loaded with food. We'll be sick."

She giggled. He grinned when he heard it – she had one of those laughs. "Excellent," she said. "I like the sound of that."

"Do you want to take one broom or two?"

She looked back at the house, and then at him. "Better be two," she said reluctantly. "In case Mum spots us. She thinks flying tandem is dangerous."

"She let's Ron and Hermione do it," Harry pointed out as they headed for the broom shed. 

"Yes, but Ron's a boy," Ginny said (a little bitterly, he thought). "And Hermione's not her only daughter. I'm lucky she's been letting me fly at all after what happened with my broom."

"Oh," was all Harry could say. He waited outside while she fetched Bill's old broom, and looked at the sky. It was a beautiful day, thank Merlin. Just the right amount of breeze and sun to be comfortable. There'd be some nice updraughts for the brooms as well, as far as he could tell from the clouds.

She came out, saw him standing there, surveying the sky so seriously, and laughed. 

"What?" he said, jumping. 

"Nothing. You just look like a pirate or something, watching the weather."

"A pirate. Thanks."

"Pirates are cool," she said, laughing again. Impulsively, she kissed him. He immediately forgave her for calling him a pirate, and leant into her. This morning she tasted of mint toothpaste, and he liked it. She sighed into his mouth, and after several seconds broke away. 

"What?" he breathed. 

"We're right in view of the house."

"Ah." This was starting to frustrate him. Maybe they should just break the news and get it over with. "That was your fault, you know."

"I know," she said, half-smiling. "But I wanted to."

He kissed the tip of her nose. He'd been wanting to do that for a long time, but had never found the right moment. When he pulled back, she bit her lip in that way she did, and he had the overwhelming need to mount his broom and fly away before he jumped her. 

"Come on," he said briskly, swinging a leg over his _Ascendant_. "Let's go."

He kicked off the ground, and moments later saw her rise up on his right side until they were level. They didn't try any fancy flying this morning. They just sailed along next to one another. Harry felt warmly, oddly content. 

He should have known it couldn't last. 

~   
Ginny saw a spot they hadn't been to before, in a shady, deep-set place along the stream they'd become so familiar with. 

"What do you think?" she called, suspended over it. 

"I like it," he replied. "You want to go down?"

She nodded and dropped. It always scared him a bit to see her do that – the look on her face was so fearless. He wondered if he looked like that when he did the Wronski Feint. He suspected no. He suspected he looked like he was going to crap himself. But Ginny – well, Ginny was graceful all over. 

_All over _chuckled the inner monologue. 

_Stop it_, Harry ordered his thoughts, quite fiercely. _We're _going slow_, remember? _

Once they had their feet on the ground, and the brooms in a safe spot, they stood next to one another at a momentary loss. Harry didn't think they'd been _this_ alone since their first broom-ride. 

"We haven't been this alone …" Ginny started. 

"Since our first broom-ride, I know," he finished. "I was just thinking that."

She slid an arm around his waist. "You know how I said I didn't think we should be alone?"

"Mm?"

"I'm really glad we are." She hugged him sideways, and he tried to hug her back, but they were in such an awkward position that it was difficult, and pretty soon she was laughing and shoving him with her shoulder. Her arm slid away. He wished it would come back again but she was heading for his backpack, which they'd left with the brooms.

He sat down where he was, pulled out his wand, and concentrating hard managed to conjure a very mediocre rug. It had holes in it, but it would do. Ginny came back carrying the bag. 

"It's so heavy," she said. 

He stood to take it from her, but she ignored him and lugged on with it, dropping it on the new rug. He sat again, and she did the same. She unzipped it.

"Careful," Harry warned. "There's about fifty things in there, and I don't know what'll still be intact."

"I'm always careful," she said archly.

It turned out just about everything was intact, apart from a few cupcakes which were squished to the point of being unrecognisable. Ginny ended up digging out two apples. She threw one to him, and he caught it. 

"Smooth," she laughed. 

He shrugged in mock-modesty. "Can't help being brilliant," he said. 

She hit him on the leg, quite hard, and then lay down, putting her head in his lap. He was struck with vivid memories of Hermione doing this to Ron, and how much he'd wanted that. He felt a pleased jolt – and then a jolt elsewhere as her head shifted. He cleared his throat and forced himself to concentrate on other things – boring things, like grass growing – while he regained control. 

"Right," he said, when he could speak again. 

"What?"

"Nothing." He smoothed her hair back from her forehead. "You're beautiful, Ginny," he said, with a clear awareness of the truth of this.

She wriggled uncomfortably. "No, I'm not," she said. 

"What do you mean?" 

"I'm not, so you don't have to pretend. It doesn't matter."

He couldn't believe this. He sat her up and she turned around to face him. 

"What are you _talking _about?" he said incredulously. 

"Harry." She touched his cheek and smiled ruefully. "It's sweet of you."

He shrugged off her hand. "Ginny," he said firmly. "Take it from me, OK? You're beautiful. Everything about you is beautiful."

"I –" she began, but he clamped a hand over her mouth. 

"Shut up," he said. 

They sat like that for a few moments, and then she put one hand up to pull his away from her mouth. He didn't budge.

"Are you going to say you're not beautiful?" he asked suspiciously. 

She shook her head. 

Slowly, he took the hand away. Her eyes were shiny, like she was about to cry. Harry wasn't sure what he'd done, but hoped it was nothing serious. 

"Harry," she said finally. "That was a very nice thing you just said." 

She stood up.

"Well," he said, leaning back. "OK."

"But I'm not," she blurted, grinning now. 

He leapt for her, but she was already running away. He grinned himself, stood up and jogged after her. 

~

It was a great day. The weather held, and they spent a lot of time exploring the little spot they'd set up camp in, snogging at intervals and talking about all the things they hadn't got to until now, and rehashing the things they had. They ate all day too, going steadily through Harry's store, until by the late afternoon (half past five, and the sun beginning its ease down), there were only two raisin-bran biscuits left which he'd put in thinking they were chocolate-chip. 

Harry was lying flat on the grass, and Ginny was on her side, with her back to him. His arm was around her and he was playing with her hair absently. 

"Harry," she said hesitantly.

"Yeah?"

"Can I ask you something?"

"What is it?"

She didn't say anything for a moment. He turned slightly, but he could only see the back of her head. When he looked more carefully, her ears were red, like Ron's when he was embarrassed. 

"What is it?" he said again, pulling her a bit closer. 

"Have you been with anyone before?" she asked suddenly, the words spilling out in a rush. 

"Been with anyone …" he repeated blankly, and then understood. "Oh! Right. _Been_ with. I see." He was blushing himself, and was glad she was facing the other way. "Erm – yes."

She rolled around to look at him, frowning. So much for facing the other way. "Who?"

"Susan."

"Bones?"

"Mm."

"Right."

She seemed a bit troubled by this and he nudged her. "Why, have you?" he said teasingly, trying to lighten the mood. 

She shook her head. 

"What?" he said, surprised. Immediately, he wished he hadn't chosen that particular tone of voice. Now she really frowning. 

"What do you mean, _what_?" she said dangerously. 

"I don't mean anything."

She raised herself up on one hand. "Harry!"  
He hesitated, but knew that she wasn't going to let up until he answered. "Well," he said unwillingly, "it's just – I heard you had."

"You heard I had?"

"Yeah. Because you had quite a few boyfriends, you know, and I just heard you'd – you know, witha few of them."

"Witha few them?" she said icily. 

"Will you stop repeating everything I say?" he murmured, sitting up and putting a hand on her hand. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry."

"Don't touch me," she snapped. He jerked his hand away. "You _think _that about me?"

"No!"

"You thought I was the kind of girl who slept around."

"No – yes – no, not slept around. Slept with a couple, I heard. Ginny, you're taking this way out of hand."

"Out of _hand_?" she shouted. Harry could suddenly see Mrs Weasley in her, and was scared. "What, is that all I am to you? You thought I'd give you something, Potter, is that it?"

"Hang on," he protested angrily, even as his inner monologue winced at the reversion to his last name. "Now that's not fair. You _know _that's not true."

"Well you didn't _know_ I wasn't a slag, and you still thought it, didn't you?" 

"Ginny, I _don't _think you're a slag. It was just a stupid rumour –"

"That you were stupid enough to believe," she cut in, standing up and marching towards her broom. She was clearly trying not to cry. 

"Ginny!" he shouted, and followed her. He put a hand on her shoulder as she went (his legs were longer than hers, so he caught up easily), but she spun around and spat at him: "I said, don't touch me!" 

He felt like he'd been winded, and stopped right where he was. She mounted her broom clumsily, kicked off from the ground, failed to rise, and then, with a string of swearwords, launched herself properly. At first, Harry couldn't think what to do. His perfect date had come crashing to a halt, and all in a matter of minutes. Then he realised that Ginny had flown off all on her own. 

He quickly grabbed his backpack, ran for his broom, and went up. He could see her in the distance, and caught her easily with his _Ascendant. _

Once beside her, he tried again: "Listen, Ginny …"

She ignored him sternly. He didn't try again – he knew it was hopeless until she calmed down. He fell back a bit instead, and waited until she'd reached home, put her broom away and run inside before he descended. 

_Shit_, he thought, running a hand through his hair as he stood outside the kitchen door. _How in Merlin's name did _this_ happen?_

The worst thing was – he had a feeling it was his fault. 


	13. Regretting

*A/N Thanks, you faithful reviewers, you (esp Melidaleo with her ever cogent comments – I know, Harry's being SUCH a boy. And yes, still carrying that emotional crippled-ness… don't think that's a word, but it's my fanfic, so I'll MAKE it a word – flizzerwoozle! The fact that he's been with someone else – I was going for realism. I didn't want things to be too pat (even though the fluffy part of my brain would love it to be). Anyway, I'm glad you guys are pleased with what's happening (er, I think you're pleased – if you're not, I didn't pick it up hehe)… Let's move it along… Ps – Who can tell I love Fred and George? 

~

When Harry went into his and Ron's room, the first thing he saw was Ron and Hermione sitting on Ron's bed, laughing, their heads close together. He felt immediately depressed and somewhat angry. 

When Hermione saw him, she straightaway noticed that something was wrong. 

"What's –" she began, but when Harry looked at her, she shut her mouth quickly. _Not the time to speak, Harry's in a mood_. He could almost see her thinking it.

"Er – I'll be in Gin's room, Ron," Hermione said. She kissed him quickly.

"OK," said Ron, smiling. He hadn't picked up on the vibe yet. 

Hermione slid off the bed and out. Harry sat down heavily on the only chair in Ron's room. 

"Hey," Ron said cheerily. "Good date?"

"It started off OK –" Harry began, and then whipped around. "Hey! You knew?"

Ron shrugged. "'Course. Mione told me. I think it's great, but she said you wanted to wait a bit to let me know. Don't worry, I won't pummel you – hey, what's the matter?"

"Remind me not to tell Hermione anything ever again, then," Harry snapped. 

"What happened?" Ron asked. 

Harry shook his head. "Shit," he said. He slammed his palm hard against the desk and it rattled. It made him feel a little better, but not much. 

"What?" Ron demanded, clearly alarmed now. 

Harry told the story. 

There was a long silence when he'd finished. 

"You said that to Ginny?" Ron asked. His voice was disbelieving. 

Harry leant his forehead against the edge of the desk. "I know, I know."

"You told her about that rumour?"

"It slipped out! I didn't mean to. And I was trying to tell her I didn't believe it – not now that she'd told me it wasn't true, anyway …"

Ron whistled. "That's bad. That's really bad."

"Shit!" Harry said again, a bit desperately. "I know, it _is_ bad! I knew it was bad when it was coming out of my mouth. But then, you should have heard her. Started accusing me of wanting to use her because I thought she'd give it away –"

"Did you?" Ron interrupted, his face hard. 

Harry just looked at him witheringly. Ron nodded and shrugged. "Sorry," he said. "Had to ask. Big brother."

Harry waved a hand at him. "It's OK. Merlin, she shouted at me. I thought I was talking to your mum for a minute."

Ron laughed wryly. "Yeah, she can do that." He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. "I don't know what you can do. To be honest – even I sort of believed that rumour, Harry. I mean, I knew these things get exaggerated, but she had so many boyfriends I thought that she must have – you know, with _one_ at least. And it's not like it was big news. Just a, 'Hey, I heard Ginny Weasley slept with Macmillan.'"

"I know, I know," Harry said dully, for about the fifth time. The words were beginning to lose all meaning. He looked at Ron sidelong. "Actually, I'm surprised you didn't take more offence at all that."

Ron shrugged. "Ginny's business is her business," he said simply. "She's got enough protective older brothers. I do my bit when I have to, and the rest I leave to her. I learnt that after fifth year, I guess."

He sounded very sensible. It was weird. 

"Not that I wouldn't thrash the first person who called her a slag," he said then, intensely, before relaxing a little. "But I never heard anyone call her that, so – you know."

Ah. _There_ was regular Ron. 

"Well – what do I do?" Harry said after a moment. 

Ron raised and dropped his hands. "I don't know, mate. I really do not know."

Neither did Harry. He didn't think an apology – or even two apologies – was going to get him out of this one. 

"Sorry to put this on you," Harry said finally. "What did you guys do today?"

"Oh, nothing," Ron replied, a little too quickly. Harry was immediately sceptical.

"You did nothing all day?"

"Well – no," Ron said reluctantly. 

"What, then?" Harry asked, even though he thought he might already know the answer. 

Ron looked both pleased and embarrassed. "Well – we –" He trailed off pointedly, and Harry's eyes widened. 

"_Today_?"

Ron shrugged and couldn't stop a grin. "Mm."  
Harry was momentarily speechless. "You and 'Mione – today?" he repeated. 

"Yeah."

Again, speechless. "Where?" Harry asked finally. He didn't exactly want details, but he had to say something. 

Ron rubbed the back of his neck. "Gazebo," he said. "Hermione charmed it."

He began to find voice again. "No wonder you were grinning so much when I came in. And how was it?" 

"Good," Ron said, flushing. "Really good."

"Well – I'm glad," Harry said eventually. He was … but not as much as he could have been. It was like a double blow to know that on the day he screwed things up with Ginny, Ron and Hermione were – screwing in other ways. The normally unperceptive Ron somehow seemed to pick this up. Maybe he was putting himself in the same situation or something, but he patted Harry on the back sympathetically. 

"I'm sorry about Ginny, mate," he said. 

"Yeah."

"So what _are_ you going to do?"

Harry thought for a moment. Then he straightened his glasses on his nose and sat up. 

"Don't worry," he said resolutely. "It's not over yet."

~

Mr and Mrs Weasley had gone to a ministry dinner, leaving Fred and George with strict instructions on how to conjure a roast dinner. Fred and George had nodded mutely until their mother left, and then turned to Harry, Ron and Hermione, who were standing in the kitchen. 

"Right," Fred said cheerfully. "Bacon and eggs. Pull up a pew."

"Where's Ginny?" asked George. 

Nobody replied. George narrowed his eyes at Hermione. 

"What?" she protested. 

"If Ginny's upset, you're the one who'll know about it, you – girl," George said accusingly. 

"I – um –" Her eyes flicked towards Harry, who was preparing himself to be throttled, but then she seemed to gather herself. "Period pains," she said briskly. 

Fred stopped rooting around in the cupboard for his frying pan, and George's eyebrows shot up several centimetres. 

"Well," he said, coughing. "Alright, then."

He turned away, and Hermione smiled smugly at Ron, and then leant forward to hiss at Harry: "You don't deserve that!"

"What?" he whispered back.

"I can't believe you said that to her! I thought you had more sense."

"I know," he said wearily. 

Ron murmured in her ear. Hermione leant into him, and Harry tried to think of what he could say to Ginny that might possibly recover his previous blunder. 

As his gaze scanned the room, it fell upon the staircase, which Ginny just happened to be descending. She met his eye, and then looked immediately in another direction. Harry's stomach clenched. This was worse than before. At least she didn't hate him before. 

"Oh!" said Fred in surprise. 

"Ginny? I thought you had – you know –" George let the words hang in the air while she frowned at him, distinctly puzzled. "Er, never mind," George finished eventually, throwing Hermione a death-stare. 

Ginny stood beside Hermione, who rubbed one of her arms briefly in sympathy.

Harry wanted to do the same, and the fact that this was clearly impossible left him feeling guiltier than ever, and ridiculously jealous of Hermione.

~

Dinner was awkward as arse. Even the often oblivious Fred and George picked up on it. 

"OK," Fred said – once he was finished eating, of course – "What's this all about?"

All four of them stared at their plates and didn't say anything. 

Fred and George looked at one another. 

"Right," continued George, very business-like. "If you've broken something, we need to know so we can replace it before Mum and Dad get home. If you haven't broken something, and it's nothing to do with us, please continue to be silent."  
They continued to be silent. Harry heard Ginny swallow and his heart rose up in his chest. 

"Excellent," Fred said cheerfully. "Plates in the sink."

~

"Ginny. Please open up." Harry banged harder on the door, which trembled. It was about nine o'clock, and his willpower had not held out – he'd been going to wait until tomorrow to plead, but it was proving far too difficult to just sit back. "_Please_ open up. I need to talk to you."  
Hermione pulled the door open just as he was raising his hand to knock again.

"Harry," she said. "I don't think this is a good time. Maybe you should wait until morning."

"I was _going_ to," he said impatiently. "I can't. Let me in, 'Mione."

She shook her head. 

"Oh, for Merlin's sake," he snapped. "This is ridiculous."

"Hey!" Hermione said loudly, prodding him in the chest with one finger. "I'm not the one who messed things up, am I, so don't go getting shirty with me."  
He sighed and looked at his hands – they were shaking.

"I'm sorry. Really sorry. This is just so frustrating."

"Alright. OK. I know." She looked back into the bedroom, and then turned helplessly to Harry. "She just won't see you, Harry. You'll have to wait it out."

_Wait it out_ said inner monologue incredulously. _Good Lord, I've barely lasted an afternoon. _

"Fine," said Harry aloud, grimly. "I'll wait it out."

That night, he went to bed early, forgoing his dreamless sleep potion – he hadn't seemed to need it lately. But tonight he dreamt. He saw Voldemort with his hands wrapped around Ginny's throat, while Harry tried to get to her. But he couldn't get close – dead people kept stepping in his way: his mother, Cedric Diggory, Sirius, until there were so many that he couldn't see anymore. They pushed him down, and all he could hear was Ginny's choking breaths. 


	14. Despairing

*Thank you reviewers, you're the cheese on my happy crackers. Don't worry Alisama2, as if I'd leave Ron and Mione in the lurch!! They'll be together a long time (rest of their lives?), you can count on it. But since this is Harry's story, I haven't included any R/HG discussions about the whole sex thing, because it isn't really Harry's business … *pauses thoughtfully* But you know what? I think I want one now. J And in answer to your second point – all their futures are still in the works, don't rush me! Now – angst ahead. You have been warned. ~nm3x5s~

The next day, Harry woke up, and along with remembering that he'd killed Voldemort, he also had to remember that Ginny wasn't talking to him. He nearly went back to bed, but decided he'd just have to face the day like a man. 

"Come on, Harry," he muttered. "Get up. Grit your teeth."

It was very English stiff-upper-lip stuff. 

"Harry?" Ron mumbled. "You sayin' something?"

"No," Harry said loudly. "Go to sleep."

Ron didn't hear – he was already out of it again.

Harry went downstairs, made himself breakfast, managed a brief smile at Fred and George asleep on opposite couches in the living room (both snoring gently), and then jumped as he heard a bedroom door open above. 

Immediately abandoning his cereal, he sprinted for the stairs, but was too late. All he saw was a flash of smooth calf and red hair as Ginny ducked into the bathroom. He considered camping outside it until she was done, but thought she probably wouldn't like that. 

_If you hadn't been such an idiot in the first place_ began inner monologue, but Harry shushed the thought. He knew. He knew that already. 

Quite suddenly, the bathroom door opened again. Ginny saw him and stopped. She didn't seem to know what to do. 

"Ginny," he said, equally stunned. 

"Harry." For a moment, she sounded like she usually did when she said his name – like she was happy to see him. Or at least, pleasantly surprised. But then, her face changed. He watched it. Her mouth settled into a hard line and her eyes glinted. "Could you move, please?" she said coldly. "I need to go and get my shampoo."

He didn't. She waited a moment, and then ducked around him. 

"Ginny," he repeated, turning and following her. "Ginny, I'm an arse, I fucked up, I'm sorry."

She went into her bedroom, patently ignoring him. He stood outside in the corridor, still speaking, waiting for her to come out again. 

"We really need to talk about this. I'm really sorry – hey, wait!" She was back again, and walking briskly past him. "Ginny, wait!" He grabbed her arm. 

She turned and looked at him. He released her immediately, trying to put all the words of his apology – much more coherent in his head than what was coming out of his mouth – into his the expression on his face. 

Ginny just blinked at him and raised her chin. "I don't want to talk to someone who thinks so badly of me," she said. Then she went back into the bathroom, and shut and locked the door behind her. 

But Harry, who had been consciously and closely listening to her voice for a month now – and listening to it unconsciously for longer than even _he_ knew – understood the nuances of her tone. Her voice had been trembling when she said that. It had been an effort for her to push him away. 

He was briefly cheered, and then deflated. What did it matter if it was an effort? She'd done it anyway, hadn't she? She really didn't want to talk to him – or at least, she _wanted_ not to want to talk to him. The result was the same either way – they weren't going to talk. 

And Harry needed to. He needed to fix this before he went mad. 

_Maybe you can't_, he thought before he could stop himself. _Maybe this _will _be just another one for the list. _

~

Harry went flying by himself that day, trying out the mad spins and dips that he hadn't attempted since Hogwarts quidditch. It seemed a long way behind him, a different era – the draughty castle with its layers of secrets and forgotten hiding places, the fire-warmed Gryffindor common room, even Snape's bloody dungeons. The lake glowing in the morning. A quidditch pitch wet with dew. In his mind, all the fears that had stalked him in his last years there disappeared. He remembered the things he'd loved instead, and it was like a golden time, somehow untouchable. 

When he went flew to the Burrow, Mrs Weasley was waiting for him in the garden. He swore under his breath, and then descended carefully, not wanting to alarm her.

"Hi Mrs Weasley," he said. 

"Harry," she began immediately, "don't you think you should have told us where you were going?"

"Oh – I'm sorry." He was, but he also resented her mothering a little. "When I went out with the others we never said where we were going."

"But that was different," she insisted. "You were with people. I just – I don't like you going off on your own."

She bit her lip. It was Ginny's gesture, and Harry – who had been able to push Ginny out of his mind for a few brief hours – was struck again by how much he missed her, how much he wanted things to be right again. 

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, when he did not reply. "It's just you haven't any family, Harry and – well, I do worry about you."  
Harry stepped off his broom and found himself hugging her. She was soft and warm, like a mother should be, and he had to fight off the sudden, unfamiliar urge to cry into her shoulder.

"I'm alright," he said gruffly, and stood back. "Thanks."

"Well," said Mrs Weasley, dabbing her own eyes surreptitiously and putting an arm around his shoulder to walk him back into the house. "My, you're tall now, aren't you? I hadn't really noticed. I was going to say that you should have taken Ginny out, she needs some fresh air. She's been cooped up in her room all day, and I don't know where Ron and Hermione have got to."

Harry could think where Hermione and Ron had got to, but quite sensibly didn't say anything. Ginny was still in her room. Ginny wasn't coming out. Ginny wasn't talking to him. 

The words throbbed along with his heartbeat. 

~

In the corridor, he could hear faint sounds coming from his and Ron's room – Ron and Hermione's voices. He immediately began to back away, but then realised that it wasn't _those _kinds of sounds. It was just regular talking. Maybe they hadn't been – you know – after all.

Feeling despicably nosy, but also somewhat curious (A/N – isn't he always?), Harry moved close to listen. At first he couldn't distinguish the words, but then they began to make sense. 

Hermione sounded teary. 

"It's OK," Ron was saying in a reassuring way. "Hey, it's OK."

"I just wonder if we did the right thing."

_Ah,_ said inner monologue. _That kind of talk. _He knew it really had nothing to do with him, but there was a lump of jealously in his chest that he had never felt with Ron and Hermione before, and he couldn't help but listen. 

"Well," said Ron, after a pause, "did it feel like the right thing?"

Brief silence.

"Yes."

Ron exhaled, clearly relieved. "I thought so too." He hesitated. "Hermione …" he began, and then stopped abruptly. 

"What?" she asked. 

"This isn't the sort of thing that means nothing to me," he went on quickly. Harry could picture him saying it – not meeting her eye, his ears red like Ginny's had been that time _(Ginny)_. "I mean – it's not like it was one time, and I forget about it. I don't want that from you."

"What do you want?" she asked.

"Merlin," he muttered.

"Tell me," she insisted gently.

Another silence, and then he spoke in a rush. "I want to be there when you're sick, and I want to wake up next to you like I did yesterday, except every day, and I want to make babies with you, and take them to quidditch practice. I want to be with you all the time. You drive me crazy. I love you."

A long, _long_ silence, and then a drawn-out sob from Hermione.

"I love you, too," she said, choking, sniffing loudly. He heard the creak of Ron's bed as she threw herself at him. 

Harry couldn't stand it anymore, and went downstairs. He felt sad and happy and bitter all at once. Ron and Hermione loved each other, and it should have been brilliant. Instead, it made him feel sick with worry and jealousy, and anger at himself for ruining what he had with Gin. 

Fred and George leapt upon him as soon as he went into the living room, and involved him in a complicated game of Exploding Snap, in which the winner of each round received five times the amount of the number of the card 60 degrees to his left, divided by the number of months since the third loser's birthday. 

It was as he was trying to grasp these rules that he remembered one more thing. 

It was his birthday tomorrow. 

_Lovely,_ he thought sourly. He hoped nobody remembered. He was too depressed for people to make a fuss. 

By the end of the game he owed Fred two galleons and George four, having won a measly three knuts – but then again, he didn't put up much of a fight. 

~

Ginny came down to dinner and was subdued, Harry equally so. They sat at opposite ends and sides of the table. Ron and Hermione were quiet too, but in a comfortable, _we have a secret_ kind of way. They kept stealing glances at each other. Mr and Mrs Weasley chatted ministry matters from the first course to dessert. They seemed happy with everyone's monosyllabic answers – and strangely enough, it was Fred and George who were frustrated. 

"Will somebody say _something_ that doesn't involve tea-cups gone wild in Surrey!" Fred exploded, in the middle of his custard tart. 

"I agree," said George, slamming down his spoon. "Stop being so bloody quiet. I can hear myself think!"

"And he doesn't like it one bit," Fred added menacingly. 

"George, dear, what are you talking about?" Mrs Weasley said vaguely. She was too happy to have her husband home for dinner to focus on the tension between her charges. 

"I'm _Fred!_" Fred bellowed, and marched out. 

George, slapping his napkin down flamboyantly, followed.

"Well!" Mr Weasley said, sounding mildly surprised. "What on earth was that about?"

"Nothing," came four voices at once. Harry and Ginny's eyes met. She flinched away, and he sighed. 

Mrs Weasley's frowned suspiciously. 

"Er –" Hermione floundered, and then grasped at the first thought that came to mind. "I guess they're upset about their apartment still being fixed. They want to get back to the shop."

"Ah." Mr Weasley nodded and finished his dessert in one spoonful. "That's it, dear. You know how they are about the shop."

"Yes," Mrs Weasley acknowledged darkly. 

"Well," Ron said, pushing back his chair and standing. "That was lovely, Mum. Shall we clear the plates?"

"You're eager," she commented, sounding both amused and wary. "What's got into you?"

"Don't know," he replied, but couldn't help sending a grin Hermione's way. She flushed and stood to help him. 

"Um – sorry. I feel a bit sick," Ginny said shortly, and headed upstairs. 

"Ginny! Ginny!" Mrs Weasley called after her, but she didn't slow down or stop. Everyone listened to the soft click of her bedroom door shutting.  

"I'm a little worried about her," Mrs Weasley murmured to Mr Weasley. "It's getting to be a bit like a madhouse in here."

Harry gathered glasses slowly. He was worried too. He wished he could go back two days and take back the _stupid_ things he'd said. He almost shouted the thought aloud, but managed to control himself. 

He _had _to speak to Ginny. Dammit, he had to. There could be no more pussy-footing around the issue. He had to do something, and as soon as possible.

He was thinking so furiously that he almost dropped the glasses. 

"Watch it there, Harry," Ron said, coming out of the kitchen for another load and noticing. 

Harry just nodded. He'd had an idea, and it had better bloody work.

~

Twelve o'clock. Everybody in bed and hopefully sleeping. Apart from Fred and George, who probably weren't going to stop a fellow sneak-out, even if they did see him.

Harry was slipping down the stairs with his _Ascendant_. He'd considered Apparating, but he wasn't that good yet, and besides it made an awful cracking sound. No – a broom was easier. It might calm him down, too. 

The kitchen door was locked, and Harry had to use _Alohomora. _The first-level spell worked – the Weasleys were never too fussy about security ("Who'd want to rob us anyway?" George said frequently, and cheerfully. "What are they going to take? Our underwear?"). Harry creaked the door open and headed out into the night. 

It was a warm, and there was a dim half-moon. He hadn't bothered to put shoes on, and was glad, because the grass felt nice under his bare feet. 

_Alright_, he told himself. _Let's do this. _

He mounted his broom, went through a few soothing, wide circles in the air, and then flew right to Ginny and Hermione's window. The curtains were open, the window closed, and he couldn't quite see her from his angle. He craned his neck awkwardly – well, there was Hermione anyway, fast asleep. _Like the bloody dead_, he thought fondly. Still, he couldn't make out Ginny in full. When he turned, he could only see the lump her feet made near the end of the bed. 

Quite suddenly, she kicked her covers off. He could see her feet. His heart swept up to his mouth. 

_They're just feet_, said inner monologue fiercely. _Get a grip. _

He breathed deeply and got a grip before rapping on the window. 

Ginny sat up right away. He rapped again. This time she hopped out of bed, because her feet disappeared. A few moments later, she was in his line of vision, warily holding her wand in front of her. He waited. 

She saw it was him, and her wand arm dropped. She was too surprised to say anything.

"Open up," he mouthed. 

Still shocked to see him outside her window, she fumbled to do so. 

"Harry," she hissed, leaning out. "What's wrong? What's happened? Is there someone in the house?"

"Nothing," he said. "I need to talk to you and if I have to come up here to do it, then I will."

Ginny groaned and made to push the window down again, but he dropped a little in the air, thrust his head into the gap and put his hand against the frame to stop her. 

"Please Ginny," he said forcefully. "Please."  
She eyed him and then folded her arms across her chest. "What can you say that you haven't said already?" she demanded. 

"That I miss you," Harry said, going with the first thoughts that came into his head. "That I miss how we were."

"I'm not the one who –"

"I know what I did," he interrupted, raising his voice. Hermione shifted and muttered, and Ginny glared at him. With an effort, he spoke in an undertone. "And I know that I was an idiot. That I believed something stupid when I shouldn't have. I know all that, and for Merlin's sake Ginny, you have to believe _me_ when I say I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry I hurt you like that."

She didn't say anything. She wasn't looking at him anymore, her gaze on her feet – bare like Harry's – but he was doing enough looking for the both of them. He was trying to read her, and it was no good. She gave him nothing.

"Ginny," he went on, a bit desperate now, but determined to plough on, "we've got something, and you're throwing it away because I made a mistake. And it was a fucking huge one, and I'm sorry for it. But please – don't let us end like this, OK? I don't –" He struggled for words. "I can't – stand being like this, and I _know_ it's hard for you too. If we can just – move beyond it – start again –"

Still, nothing. Not a shuffled, not a whisper, not a twitch of the eye. He lurched on, wanting her to stop him, wanting her to bring this to some kind of conclusion.

"When I'm with you," he said awkwardly, "I feel so much better. I want – I just wish I could make you understand. Ginny, I think – I think I –"

And here Ginny raised her head, and raised a hand too, palm facing him. It was a 'Stop'. He stopped. She had tears in her eyes. Harry didn't think he was breathing. __

"You can't just say these things and think that'll fix everything," she said, not meeting his eye. "They don't. You have to mean them, Harry – and I don't know what you mean anymore."

With that, she slid the window shut, pulled the curtains and went back to bed. 

Harry sat on his broom in uncomprehending silence. This had been his last hope – talk to her, tell her how you feel, apologise like you've never apologised before, and then see how things turn out. 

Well, things had turned in exactly the wrong way. 

He was just considering knocking the bloody window down when:

"Harry?" called an incredulous voice. He almost fell off his broom. It was Mr Weasley, with his head out another window, staring at him. He was wearing a Muggle nightcap with a pom-pom on the end. "What are you doing?"

"Er – um – I'm just – flying," Harry said lamely. 

Mr Weasley shook his head. "You're as bad as Fred and George. And don't go waking the girls up, will you? Go on, go back to bed."

"OK," Harry agreed dismally. The window-breaking thing was a bad idea anyway. He went inside, packed up his broom, and lay down on his mattress. 

There was no way he was going to be able to stand the rest of the summer in this house, with Ginny so close. 

There was just no way.


	15. Departing

Harry could smell burning, and struggled awake. 

"What's that?" he slurred. He was so tired – he'd barely slept. "Fire …"

"You've gone and upset the birthday boy," said one voice accusingly. 

"I didn't mean to," said another, very like the first. "One of the candles is melting. It's your dodgy recipe, anyway."

"Harry." That was Hermione's voice. 

He opened his eyes. Fred and George were sitting on the edge of Ron's bed, holding a very lop-sided cake on a serving tray. It had seventeen candles stuck in it – the eighteenth Fred had plucked out and was holding so it wouldn't drip wax on the floor. Hermione was kneeling at the end of his mattress. Ron was standing behind her. Ginny was nowhere to be seen. 

"We tried to wake her up," Ron said apologetically, watching him scan the room. "But she – uh, she's a heavy sleeper."

"Who, Ginny? No she's not," protested Fred blankly. "She's a light sleeper."

"Well she was heavy this morning," Ron grated. 

Hermione quickly interceded. "Happy eighteenth, Harry," she said, and leant forward to kiss him on the cheek as she handed him a present. 

Harry was still trying to understand what was happening. What were they doing here? Why a _cake_? Then it clicked. His birthday. For the first time in his life, he'd forgotten about his birthday – twice. 

"Oh. Thanks, guys," he said weakly. 

"Open it," Hermione urged. 

He forced himself upright and did so. It was a book, _Defensive Magic In All Its Forms_ by someone called Major T. Totalus. He flipped it open. Inside was – well, a guide to defensive magic in all its forms. With pictures. 

"Thanks Hermione," he said. 

"It's from both of us," said Ron. "I helped pick."

"Look at the front," added Hermione.

There was a message written on the inside cover.

_To Harry, on your 18th Birthday. Here's hoping you won't have to use it, but we thought you'd be interested. We hope you're OK. We love you. Ron and Hermione. _

"Er – Hermione put in the 'We love you' bit," Ron said hastily. "I tried to stop her."

Harry managed a bit of a grin. "Thanks," he said. 

The Weasley twins presented their cake. 

"Look," George said proudly. "We made a cake."

"I found the spell."

"Right, he found the spell. And I iced it."

"And we both put the candles in."

"It's our first proper go at household spells. What do you think?"

"Wow," said Harry, a bit overwhelmed. The cake was higher on one side than the other, the icing was a grey-pink, and in another colour – lime green – they'd tried to write _Happy Birthday Potter _and ended up with _Happy Birth P_. 

"Oh, that," George said breezily, seeing him looking at it. "We aimed a little too high. There wasn't enough room."

"Right," said Harry. "Well, this is great."

"Wait," said Fred, surprised. He put the cake down on Harry's lap. "The cake isn't the present, you daft bugger." From behind his back he pulled a medium-sized bottle, corked and label-less. 

"Is that –" Ron said, as George produced shot glasses.

"I don't know," Hermione worried. 

"'Mione," George said. "It's his eighteenth birthday. He's legal. He's having a shot of firewhiskey to –"

"Be initiated into the next phase of his life," finished Fred. 

Hermione muttered something, and Fred and George ignored her. Ron put a hand on her shoulder. 

Harry moved the cake from his lap and onto the floor. He didn't really want firewhiskey – he didn't really want _presents_ – but it seemed like everyone had gone to so much trouble that he just went along. Fred poured him a shot, and then one for himself and George.

"Ron?" he asked. 

Ron looked down at Hermione, who was frowning out the window. 

"No thanks," he said, albeit a tad reluctantly. 

Ever-so-slightly, Hermione smiled. 

Harry quickly threw back his shot. It burnt (very surprising, that) all the way down his throat and into his stomach. He coughed twice. 

"Wow," he said hoarsely. "That was – hot."

Fred and George nodded mutely. They'd just swallowed their own. 

"Well, Harry," Hermione said impatiently. "If you're done being initiated, we can plan what we'll do today. We're going to do whatever you want. Fred and George are heading in to London, so if you like we can –"

"Actually," Harry interrupted, looking at the twins, "I need to talk to you about that."

"About what?" George asked, regaining his voice.

"About – London. When are you going back to your apartment?"

"Tomorrow, hopefully," said Fred, beaming. "Lee owled us to say it's nearly ready. Why do you ask?"

Harry swallowed before answering, already anticipating Ron and Hermione's reactions. "I want to go with you," he said. 

"Er – OK."

"I want to stay with you, I mean. Just for a couple days, until I find my feet. If that's alright."

Fred and George looked at each other. The other two looked at Harry. 

"What do you mean, stay with them?" Ron said after a brief silence. His voice was admirably even. 

"I mean," Harry said, eyes fixed on his cake (it seemed a safe point), "move to their place. If they've got room. Otherwise, I can go to The Leaky Cauldron, but I sort of want to be with people I know for a couple days. Then I'll find a spot for myself –"

"Harry!" Hermione said shrilly. "Why on earth do you want to leave?"

Now Harry shifted his gaze, and met her eye. Her raised eyebrows fell, and she looked a little helpless. 

"Harry, that's no reason to –" she began quietly. 

He cut in. "It is," he said. Not angrily, just firmly. "And I want to leave."

"Something wrong with our house?" Ron said, a bit stiffly. 

"No. It's not that."

"_What's_ going on here?" Fred asked to the room in general. "I'm feeling a bit out of the loop."

"Join the club, I'm president," added George. 

"Nothing's going on," Harry said quickly. "Only that I think it's time I – got out of your hair here at the Burrow …"

"And came into _our_ hair in London?" Fred finished, clearly still puzzled. 

"Yeah," said Harry.

Fred and George looked at one another again, and then George shrugged. "Well," he said, "we're happy to have you if you need a place, Harry. You can sleep on the couch."

"But we're not breaking the news to Mum," Fred said immediately.

George shook his head. "No. That's your job."  
_I don't think I'll tell her_ _at all_, Harry thought, but didn't say. 

"Right. Thanks. When are you leaving?"

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, but he ignored her. Ron's hand tightened on her shoulder. 

"Couple of hours," said George. "We'll Floo ourselves there."

"OK. I'll be ready."

"Good-oh." George rubbed his hands together. "I love starting the day with unexpected news."  
Fred grinned. "Oi, pass me our cake, will you Harry? We'll go cut it downstairs."  
Harry did so, and Fred and George left, carrying their creation between them with all the tenderness of new parents. 

"Well," Harry said awkwardly. "I guess I'd better pack."

Hermione stood up and literally stamped a foot. "This is _ridiculous_," she fumed. 

"'Mione, just leave it …" Ron tried to say, but she waved a hand at him and eyed Harry furiously. 

"You're both being idiots," she said. "_You_ just need to stop trying to fix things before she's ready, and _she_ just needs to step back and see that things aren't as bad as she imagines. It's easy. It's _simple_. So _do it_!"

"Yeah, real simple," Harry retorted, his anger flaring. "Just like we always said you and Ron should just tell each other how you felt and go for a snog. That was simple too, wasn't it?"

"Well – that's not the point – I don't – " Hermione sputtered, uncharacteristically inarticulate. Then she groaned in frustration and stormed out. 

"You know," Ron said after a while, "if you don't like it up in London – well, there's always a mattress on my floor for you."  
Harry half-smiled. "Thanks, mate."  
Ron nodded and made to leave. He stopped and turned in the doorway.

"Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"Happy birthday."  
Then he was gone, and Harry was left feeling like scum – but determined scum. The Weasleys had been very good to him, and it looked like they were going to continue being good to him. If he was going to bow out of their hospitality, he was going to do it with a bit of dignity, and not like a thief in the night. 

Which meant – he swallowed – he'd have to tell Mrs Weasley.

~ 

After ten minutes of shrieking, five of threats to kill Fred and George for 'putting the idea in his head' (he had to protest that), and then, finally, five of tears, Mrs Weasley wrapped him in a tight bear-hug. 

"Oh Harry," she sobbed, "if you want to go out into the world, then you – you –"

"It's OK, Mrs Weasley," he said, patting her back and wishing this wasn't so hard. 

"– then you go!" she finished. She took hold of his shoulders and held him away a little to examine his face. "But don't go _too_ far," she added sternly. 

"I won't."

She looked into the distance thoughtfully. "Perhaps I should owl Professor McGonagall …" 

"No!" Harry almost shouted. "No, it's alright. It's – well, it's really none of her business."

It wasn't, at all. But Harry was scared that McGonagall, with her iron will, would simply _make_ it her business if she felt the need.

"I suppose you're right. Look at you, you're so big! I remember when you were" (she began to cry again) "knee-high to a grasshopper."

Harry hugged her in what he hoped was a reassuring kind of way. He was going in half an hour. He loved Mrs Weasley, but he hoped she'd wrap up her reminiscing soon, because he had a feeling Fred and George wouldn't wait long for him.

~

"Come on, Potter!" Fred was shouting from downstairs. Harry quickly threw his new birthday presents – the book and the whiskey, he didn't know where the twins had put their cake – into his trunk, grabbed Hedwig's cage (she wasn't in it – she rarely came home these days, unless he needed her; she liked the countryside too much), and proceeded to lug these downstairs. 

"No time like the present," George said loudly. He was in the living room and his voice echoed through the house. "Oh, present! Fred, get the cake."

"Right."

Harry was halfway down the stairs when Fred passed him. "Just going into the kitchen," he said cheerfully. Harry sighed. Ron came out of the living room too, saw him struggling, and ran up to take Hedwig's cage. 

"Thanks," Harry said.

"No problem."

Everyone was gathered around the fireplace, looking quite grim – everyone but Ginny. He didn't know why he was still hoping she'd be there. George was wearing the famed dragon-skin jacket and beaming. Mrs Weasley looked like she might burst into tears again when she saw him, but controlled herself. 

"She was exactly the same when Charlie, Bill and Percy left," Fred said from behind him. Harry started, and Fred swung the cake away so he wouldn't knock it over. 

"Ready?" said George briskly, already scooping Floo powder out of the family pot. Fred pushed past Harry and Ron to the fire and did the same. 

"See you soon, Mum," he said. "And don't worry. We'll look after Harry."

He winked, leapt into the flames and threw down his powder as he cried: "Fred and George's pad!"

Mrs Weasley looked more anxious than previously. "George," she said, touching his elbow. "You will, won't you?"

"Course, Mum. Thanks for the snacks, Lee'll love them." He shouldered his bag, and then followed Fred. 

Harry immediately wished he had his Invisibility Cloak on, because everybody turned to look at him. He walked in front of the fireplace and put down his trunk, while Ron set Hedwig's cage beside him. 

"Well," he said clumsily, "I guess – goodbye."  
Hermione launched herself forwards and nearly knocked him over. He made an 'oof' sound as she hit him, but then hugged her back. 

"Bye, Harry. Be good. Look after yourself."

"I will."

She titled her mouth to his ear and spoke softly. "You know, running away's not going to make it better."

He nodded, not wanting her to say anymore, and she backed up, smiling wanly at him. Ron came forward – _this is like a film, _Harry thought – and looked at him. 

"Well, goodbye," he said gruffly, and held out a hand. 

Harry took it and they shook, before hugging quickly. 

"Don't go crazy," said Ron, releasing him.

"I won't." 

Ron moved to put his arm around Hermione's waist. 

"Oh, Harry!" said Mrs Weasley, with another flood of tears. She hugged him again, then broke off and dusted his shirt down briskly. "Now, don't go into Knockturn Alley, and don't take money from strangers because they're probably drug dealers, and for heaven's _sake_ don't go into bars with Fred and George, or you'll never make it home again."

"OK," Harry agreed, unable to really absorb these rushed instructions. "Thanks Mrs Weasley. Thanks for having me."

"Our pleasure, dear," she said tearily, sincerely. "Anytime you like."

"Well, here goes, then," said Harry.

"Owl us," Hermione added. 

"I will."

He took a handful of Floo powder, stepped into the fire, pulled his trunk and cage in after him, and was just about to leave when Mrs Weasley shouted something. 

"What?" he said, trying to hear above the roaring of the fire.

"Ginny!" she exclaimed. "She hasn't said goodbye."

"Ah – it's OK," Harry said hastily, but Mrs Weasley was adamant. 

"No, no, she should say goodbye. It's only polite. I'll get her …" She was just about to go marching out and up the stairs, but stopped in surprise. Harry followed her line of view. Ginny was, in fact, hovering in the living room doorway. Her expression was tormented, like she didn't know if she should run in, or run back upstairs. 

She met Harry's eye and he could only look at her. It seemed like such a little thing now, what they'd said to each other, and he wanted so badly to step back out of the fireplace and hold her. 

"Ginny," Mrs Weasley said briskly. "Come and say goodbye."

Ginny jumped when her mother spoke, and looked flummoxed. "I –" she began, and then stopped. With a final glance at Harry, she ran out of the doorway and upstairs again. 

"I'm sorry, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, turning back to him. "She must be upset."

Harry nodded and, not wanting to stand there a moment longer, threw down his powder.

"Fred and George's pad!"


	16. City Living

*The fluff IS on its way back, I promise. I'm just trying to go for a little solid reality here too. Don't give up on me. :) ~long live 83~ and keep reviewing, 'cos it's awesome to read them … 

PS – I wasn't sure about the whole firewhiskey age-limit thing, but I just went with what we have in Australia (yes, I'm Australian – G'day and all that). 

PPS – Thanks Traveller. I know, it's weird, the story won't stop coming out. 

~

When Harry opened his eyes again, he was stumbling out of a modern-looking fireplace in a cloud of black ash. 

"You right there, Harry?" Fred said, dusting him down a bit.      

Harry coughed in reply and wiped his glasses. 

"Welcome," George said expansively, "to our humble abode."

He looked around. The apartment was _so _Fred and George it was almost frightening. Luridly coloured couches and armchairs, and stacked boxes of _Wizard Wheezes _merchandise. Over in the kitchen, a sink full of dirty dishes they hadn't bothered to charm. Bright lights. Fashionable clothes strewn here and there. It was like the ultimate boys' club. 

"What do you think?" George went on proudly. 

"I like it," said Harry. What else was he going to say?

"You can sleep in the spare room, after all," said Fred, directing him down the hall and into a little room with a bed, a dresser, a red and blue abstract painting and a window. Harry lugged his trunk along and George took Hedwig's cage. "Lee's moving in with his cousin, he said." 

They left Harry's things beside the bed, and then all stood in silence a moment – Harry awkward, Fred and George just satisfied to be home.

"It's a good thing you said you wanted to come back with us today," commented Fred. "When we owled Lee and asked him if he could hurry up the repairs, he said they were done last night, he just hadn't wanted to bother us."

"Personally, I think he's bringing girls here," said George darkly.

Fred shrugged. "Doesn't matter – at least we're back, and a day early. The shop's just down the road, Harry, so we'll be there if you want us. George?"

George got out his wand and conjured a spare key, before handing it to Harry. 

"There you go. It's got a Recognition Charm on it, so it won't work if anyone else tries to use it."

"Right," said Harry. He felt a bit lost for words. They left Harry's new room. Fred went out into the living room again, and George headed for the kitchen.

"Angelina's got a key too –"

"You should marry the girl, Fred," George called out, in a fair imitation of Mrs Weasley's voice. He was putting the homemade snacks away. "Make an honest woman of her."

Fred rolled his eyes. "I was just going to say, don't be alarmed if she shows up. Oh, and we'll go out for dinner tonight, shall we?"

"We shall," announced George, joining them. "So, have fun in London, Harry."

"Er – I will. D'you get _The Daily Prophet_?"

"Should be on the doorstep," Fred said airily. "We're off to work."  
And without further ado, they Apparated. 

Harry fetched the paper, ate one of Mrs Weasley's snacks, and then sat for a long time in his bedroom. He felt odd. And he felt like a coward. He kept remembering what Hermione had said, about running away. 

_Well, Merlin,_ complained inner monologue. _You did your best, didn't you? You tried to fix things, and it didn't work out. It would have been way too uncomfortable to keep staying there. This way, Ginny can do what she wants without having to worry about you. _

This last was true at least – she'd probably be much happier without him around. He'd just have to make do with his decision. He'd live in London until he got his letters, and then he'd decide where to go after that. 

Almost unconsciously, he counted back the days. He'd been at the Weasley's over four weeks. Which meant there were about four weeks left of his summer. 

_Enjoy them_, he told himself firmly. _You won't get this time again._

But no matter how hard he tried to jolt his mind into co-operation – it wouldn't let go of Ginny. 

~

"Georgsh," Harry slurred. "Really glad I came to shtay wish you."

"That's great," George said grimly. "Fred, hold him up."

"I'm trying," Fred objected. "He's heavier than he looks."

Most of this went over Harry's head. He was rather drunk. After dinner, the twins had taken him out to some bars in London, and Harry had found that after one drink he felt a little better, after two he felt upbeat, after three he was downright happy, and by the time he reached number four he was the king of the world. The twins had been cheering until he passed out on the floor – then they'd had to pick him up and, too nervous to send him via the Floo network, were literally hauling him home. 

"Fred," Harry said, on the way up the stairs to their apartment.

"Yes, Harry?" 

"I really shtuffed things up." He laughed briefly. "I mean, really."

"Is that so?" Fred was holding him up while George got the door open. 

"Yep," Harry said, feeling a little weak now. "Really really."

"That's too bad. But you know, mate – drowning your sorrows never works out. You just end up on the floor in the morning feeling like your head's been bitten off."

"I really – really stuffed it," he said tiredly. He wasn't so happy now. He felt a bit sick, and sad. 

Once inside, the twins managed to put him down on top of his bed. They didn't bother pulling the covers over him, and he was too out of it to have noticed anyway.

"'Night Harry," George said from the doorway, shaking his head at him and grinning ruefully. "Happy birthday." 

_Happy Birthday _said inner monologue bitterly, before Harry slipped back into unconsciousness 

~

Harry staggered out of bed at midday to find Angelina Johnson and Katie Bell in the kitchen. Both were making sandwiches and giggling to each other. They stopped when they saw Harry. 

"Er – hi," he said. Thank Merlin he'd changed clothes, and washed his face. 

"Harry," Katie said, sounding concerned. "You OK?"

"Fine. Just, well – I drank a bit too much last night. It was my birthday."

Angelina grinned. "You do look a little worse for wear. And you've moved to London, have you?"

"Yeah."

"Do you love it?" gushed Katie. 

_No_, Harry thought. He'd spent the previous day moping in the apartment till noon, when he'd gone out to wander the streets. Despite everything going on, there hadn't been much to do. Nobody to talk to, either. He'd even considered contacting Malfoy, who he knew lived somewhere nearby, but couldn't bring himself to it. He'd ended up in the library of all places, reading about quidditch.

And then dinner, and then –

Harry took a few steps forward into the kitchen, and let out an audible gasp as his head spun and throbbed. Shit. Maybe he should just go back to bed.

Angelina went on grinning. "Best to keep up and moving," she said. "Hey, why don't you go down to the shop? Lee could use a hand."

"Where's Fred and George?"

Both girls sobered. "Didn't you know?" Katie said. "It's a year since Percy died. They've all gone out to the cemetery." 

"Oh," Harry said. He remembered Ron telling him about it, and not wanting to go. He wondered why the twins didn't say anything. 

"Do you want a sandwich?" asked Angelina sympathetically.

"No," said Harry. "Maybe I will go down to the shop." 

"You should," she agreed. "It'll be good for you."

After a long drink of water and the working-up of his will-power, Harry Apparated to _Weasley's Wizard Wheezes_, and worked behind the counter all day. It was the weirdest cure for a hangover he'd ever heard of, but surprisingly, it worked. It kept his mind off things. Off the pain in his skull. Off Ginny, crying at the graveyard. 

As long as he focussed, he wasn't thinking about any of it. 

He was just – keeping on. 

~

Thursday – Harry went looking through _The Daily Prophet _for apartments, hoping to get out of Fred and George's way, but there was nothing in his price range. He decided he'd leave on Friday and take out a room in _The Leaky Cauldron._ He couldn't keep imposing like this, living there without paying rent (despite the fact that he _did_ do their dishes for them).  
It was a long day. Harry barely remembered it. He worked at the store a little, and then went out, but he couldn't find anything to do or buy. He saw Oliver Wood in the street, and they had a brief discussion about the English quidditch team's chances at the premiership, but saw no-one else he recognised. Fred and George were abnormally subdued after the events of the previous day, and didn't talk much, so it was a quiet dinner. 

That night, his long-awaited letters came via a very healthy-looking Hedwig. He was offered a place in an Auror training school in France and one in Derbyshire, an internship working in the Department of Mysteries, and a place in a course in defensive magic at Allenhall University. 

He opened all these letters, and didn't know what he felt. Mostly he wished he was opening them with Ron and Hermione. 

There was another letter too, from Hogwarts, and despite himself, his heart leapt. There was the familiar seal, the ink that smelt of dusty rooms. He opened it eagerly, almost expecting his book list for the next year and the arrival time and date for the Hogwarts Express. 

Dear Mr Potter (it read) 

We are pleased to offer you a place as assistant to Hogwarts' new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, with a view to eventual placement in this teaching position. As assistant, your tasks would include study of the art of defence, management of the Duelling Club, and classroom aid. This is NOT a teaching position at this point in time, as we do not feel you are fully qualified – but Mr Potter, we'd very much like to have you. 

Please reply within the week. 

Yours sincerely

Minerva McGonagall__

A Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher – or assistant, rather. Harry had never even considered it. It was a shot from the blue, alright. He'd always thought he'd end up an Auror. But to be at Hogwarts again – well, at the moment, he couldn't imagine anything much better. He read McGonagall's brief departure from formality again – that 'we'd very much like to have you' sounded rather nice. 

He flipped the letter over and found a Postscript:

I thought you might like to know, Mr Malfoy will be taking up a position as assistant to our Potions Master, Professor Snape. All the best. MM. 

He sighed and dropped the letters on the floor beside his bed. He'd think about it properly tomorrow. It was late, and he needed sleep, but he'd had a lot of trouble getting it lately. He didn't want to take Madame Pomfrey's potion anymore, but he didn't want to dream. It was an awful Catch 22. 

He was just closing his eyes when there was a soft knocking at his window. At first, he ignored it, hoping it would go away. Then he thought it might be Fred or George – although they weren't very likely to be playing pranks today, quiet as they were. Then he thought it could be party-goers. It was Saturday night, after all. Probably some kids running around the streets and throwing things.

"Harry," he heard faintly, from behind the glass. 

Groaning, he sat up and opened his eyes. 

Ginny was hovering outside his window. 


	17. Reconciling

He blinked twice. She was still there. 

He ran to the window and jerked it open. She flew in, clambered off her broom, dropped it on the floor and looked at him. 

"Er – what are you doing here?" he managed eventually. 

"I flew," she said. 

"I can see that." He could – she looked windswept, and beautiful. "But what are you doing here?"

"I wanted to see you."

His heart beat faster. "You did?"

She nodded mutely, and then took three steps forward and put her arms around him. 

He almost fell over in surprise and didn't know what to do, but then, with the feel of her hands on his back and her hair against his skin, he found he was holding her too. His hands were on her cheeks, in her hair, sliding down her waist, and she smelt just like he remembered. Fresh and flowers. 

"Merlin," he breathed in her ear, and then realised she was crying. "What? What?" he said, a bit frantically. He didn't want to upset her again.

"Nothing," she replied brokenly. "I missed you."  
He hugged her tighter. "I missed you too."

"I'm sorry I was so stupid," she began, but he cut her off immediately. 

"Don't _you _apologise. I still can't believe I said that –"

"It's alright."

"It's not. I'm sorry."

She sniffed and spoke into his chest. "I was angry, but then by the time I stopped being angry, it had gone too far, and I couldn't back down. And then you left –"

"I wanted to come back," he said, "but not if you hated me."

"We're both too proud, then," said Ginny wryly. She wiped her eyes on his shirt. 

"Hey," he chided gently, "that was clean."

"Harry," she said, ignoring this last comment and looking up at him. 

"Yes, Ginny?" Merlin, it felt good to say her name. 

"It doesn't matter if you believed that about me. And it doesn't matter if you slept with someone else before. I just – want you to know that – if you –"

He cut her off. "I never have, and never will think you're a slag," he said firmly. "So don't say anything about it."

She bit her lip, and he felt such an overwhelming surge of happiness when he saw her do it that he couldn't hold back, and kissed her hard, filled up with the desperation of this week, and this month. Suddenly her hands were at the back of his neck, curled in his hair, and she was kissing him too, with the fervour he remembered from that time in Dumbledore's room. Her tongue and her lips and her breath and the smell of her hair made him almost dizzy with pleasure and disbelief. 

She was here. She'd forgiven him. 

Naturally, barely realising it themselves, they were moving towards the bed, and when Harry fell back onto it, she fell with him. Neither of them paused for breath. They kissed on and on, and Harry's hands were at her breasts, and it was all he could do to keep from tearing off her clothes right then and there. 

"Merlin," he said again, into her mouth. He undid the top button on her blouse, then grasped what he was doing, and stopped. She reached her own hands up and undid the second, and third, until all of them were unbuttoned

"Ginny," he said hoarsely, warningly.   
She removed her shirt and kissed him again. "I want to," she murmured, and he wanted to tell her to think about it, to be sure, but she felt too good. He was touching her, and unable to believe that he was touching her, and pretty soon she was touching him too and by that time, he was speechless. They were in fewer and fewer clothes. 

Finally, it reached a point where he'd have to say something, or live with the consequences. He was so hot that he thought he might faint, but he knew he had to. "Ginny," he said. "Ginny, don't do this if you're not sure."

She paused only briefly. "I _am_ sure."

"Are you sure you're sure?" Merlin, how he was talking he didn't know. "Maybe we should – wait."

_Please no_, begged inner monologue.

"You think you can wait?"

"I don't want you to do this if it's not right for you," he said. He meant it, as much as he wanted her. He was worried about her, and he wanted to sleep her with her, and the two emotions in concert made him feel almost sick.

"Harry," she said. "This is right. I feel it."  
He looked down at her. She ran a hand through his hair, and he was struck with a sudden realisation.  

 "I'm in love with you," he blurted. 

She eyed him for a long moment, and then spoke in a hard voice. "You don't have to say that to make me feel better."

"I'm not," he said. "I'm in love with you. I have been forever. I just didn't know it."

"Harry," she whispered, frowning, shaking her head. "Don't lie."

"It's true," he said, quite fiercely, protective of this feeling now that he understood it. "It's true. I'm not lying."

And then it was too late for talking, and too late for stopping, and for a while it all came down to the two of them, in that little room, and their hushed lovemaking. 

~

Harry woke up to sun on his face, realising first that he was naked, and second that somebody else was too, and that she was in his bed with her back to him. He touched her hair gently and opened his eyes. 

Ginny. 

He looked at her, and ran his fingers along the line of her arm. She woke immediately – light sleeper, he remembered – and turned quickly to face him.

"Hi," she said sleepily. She brushed a strand of hair out her face.

"Hi," he said. 

She smiled. "It's early." 

"I know."

"You have bags under your eyes," she pointed out, touching them lightly with her fingertips.

"Mm. I'm tired. But I woke up and saw you, and I didn't want to sleep."

"I like waking up next to you," she said, wriggling a bit closer. 

"I like it too," he said. "I've never woken up next to a girl before. It's nice."

She slipped her arms around his waist. "What about Susan?"

"It was really quick," he said, flushing a bit. "It was never like this."

"Why wasn't it like this?" she said, in the direction of his chin. 

"I'm not sure." He cleared his throat. "I guess – it didn't mean so much." He didn't want to, but he had to ask. "Ginny –"

"I don't regret it, Harry. I'm glad."

She knew the things he was going to say before he even said them. He loved that. 

"I don't regret it either, as long as you're alright."

"I'm OK."

He ducked his head a bit to find eye contact. "So," he said, grinning just a little, "how was it?"

She absolutely refused to look at him. "You're just fishing for compliments," she mumbled. 

"Tell me," he said, tickling her gently. She tried to suppress a laugh, but failed and giggled.  

"Stop it! Alright, OK, I'll tell you."

He stopped and looked at her, expectant. 

"It was awful," she said, quite seriously.  
Harry was dumbstruck. He felt terrible. He felt responsible. 

"Gin –" he began, but then he looked in her eyes, and they were twinkling. 

"Gotcha," she said softly, breaking into a smile, and he was struck with vivid memories of saying that to her himself, weeks ago, when he blocked her with his broomstick. 

"You scared me a second," he said, mightily relieved.

"Sorry."

"So?"

There was a brief pause.

"It was good, Harry. It was – better than I thought it'd be." 

"Did it – you know, hurt?"

"A little. Not that bad." She looked embarrassed now, and he didn't want her to feel like that, so he quickly changed the subject. 

"Can't believe your Mum let you come," he said. 

A longer pause this time – too long. 

"Gin," he said sharply. "You did ask, didn't you?"

She shook her head against his chest. He pulled back a little to look into her face. "Ginny! You _didn't_ ask?"

"No," she said. "I knew they wouldn't let me."

"So they don't know where you are?"

"I'm not an idiot," she said indignantly. "I left a note with 'Mione. They think I'm with Bill and Fleur. I told Bill I was staying with the twins but I didn't want to tell Mum, and he's going along with it. And besides, I _am_ staying with the twins."

"You're staying with me," he corrected, feeling oddly possessive. "I can't believe you just went like that." He hesitated. "What made you do it?"

Another long silence. 

"We were at Percy's memorial," she said, just as he was beginning to think she hadn't heard him. "And I was standing there, looking at the grave, you know, and I was just thinking – I really wished you were there. That's all. I really wished you were there."

Harry didn't know what to say. He kissed the top of her head and pulled her closer. She sighed. It was very quiet – he listened to her breathing. 

"Oi!" Fred shouted, a few minutes later, banging hard on the door. "Oi! Come on! We're going out for breakfast."

"Shit," Harry muttered. Ginny was already out of bed, scrambling for her clothes. 

"Coming," Harry called, pulling on his boxers. 

He got them on just as Fred decided to _Alohomora _the door and march in, wand outstretched.

"What's taking –"

He saw Ginny, dressed only in Harry's shirt, and immediately began to babble. 

"Good Lord, I'm sorry. Merlin. Sorry, Harry." He backed out, shutting the door behind him.

They were frozen a moment, and then Ginny shrugged helplessly. Harry was about to say something when the door opened again. 

"_Ginny?_" Fred said incredulously. "I didn't even realise it was you. What the _fuck_ are you doing here?"

Thank Merlin he sounded more wondering than angry. 

"Er – um –" she floundered.

Fred's eyes were wandering from Ginny to Harry and back to Ginny again. They widened as he twigged. 

"You? And _Harry?_" he said. 

"Er – yes."

"You and Harry?"

"Yes."

"You and –"

"Yes, Fred," Harry interrupted, looking for his jeans. He found them and put them on while Fred went on looking from Harry to his sister like he was watching a tennis match. 

"Who and Harry?" shouted George from down the hall.

"Ginny," Fred said faintly. 

George came up behind him. "Who? Oh, fuck me." He'd just seen Ginny in Harry's room, in Harry's shirt, and jumped in surprise. Harry put his hands on his head in desperation. This was not exactly how he'd envisioned the morning after. 

"When did you get here, Ginny?" George asked, after a long, pregnant silence. 

"Last night," she admitted reluctantly. 

George looked at the window. It was still open, and Ginny's broom was beneath it. 

"You flew?"

"Yes."

"Mum know?"

"She thinks I'm at Bill's."

Fred blew out a long, heavy breath.  
Harry moved to stand next to Ginny. He put his hand on her arm. 

There was a brief silence. Then: 

"Harry," George said sternly. "Come here."

Harry, nervous as hell but determined to get through this, went to stand in front of Fred and George. Both had their hands on their hips, their expressions unreadable. 

"Do you love our sister?" Fred asked. 

"Yes," Harry said immediately.

He couldn't see Ginny, but he hoped she was listening.

The twins went on looking at him. Finally, George broke into an unexpected smile. 

"Right answer," he said, and gripped Harry in a sudden and uncompromising bear hug. 

"Welcome to the family!" shouted Fred.

"Don't rush the boy." George released him, and ruffled Harry's hair. "I think a six-month engagement will be long enough."

Harry swallowed. 

"Come on!" Fred said. "Breakfast, let's go. Oh, and Ginny?"

Now it was her turn to look nervous. "Yes?"

He winked at her. "Nice bit of rule-breaking, there. Don't worry. We won't be turning you in."

She exhaled. "Thanks, Fred. George."

"No problem," they said, virtually in unison. 

"I'm so excited, I'm hungrier than I was before!" exclaimed George. "Let's go, let's go." He went out into the hall and Fred followed. 

Harry looked at Ginny. He really didn't want to go out right now.

"Coming?" asked George. 

"Ah – no," said Harry slowly. "I guess we'll eat here."

The twins grinned and departed, whistling 'Here Comes The Bride' all the way down the hall.

Harry met Ginny's eye. 

"Well," she said softly. "Goodbye Problem One."

"How many more to go?"

"Don't know," she said, approaching him. "I don't care at the moment."

He put his hands on her hips. She kissed him, kissed his neck, and then they went back to bed, and slept. At least, Ginny slept. Harry drifted in and out, and watched her.

~

A/N: OK, I don't know if you guys will/will not approve of what just happened, but it felt right to me, so I went with it. ~nm3x5s~ Shezzly 


	18. Waking and Wandering

*Wow. Good response! I know it's my story Traveller (intellectually I know this), but I can't help feeling a little obligated to all of you in terms of wanting to make it decent. But apparently you do find it decent, and I can rest easy :) … I liked the drunk scene too, but I'd just read a fanfic with one in it and I didn't want to run the risk of copying it. Don't freak out, Wacky Watermelon, criticism is good for the soul, hehe. And – oh my giddy aunt – LavenderBrown's reading my story! Hehe, my fanfic idol, all the way … thank you very much-a! Well, here goes … Oh, and PS, to those who've wondered and he/she who asked: 'no more 3x5s' is a John Mayer quote (my god, my hero, my perfect man – plus I really kinda wanna shag him hehe) and, if you seek proper explanation of the phrase, I suggest you go listen to the song ("3x5", _Room for Squares) _Go on. Go listen. Spread the John love hehe. And now, *let's move it along*

~

Harry woke up – he must have got some decent sleep after all – and felt Ginny touching his hand. He looked down. She was holding it, examining it.

"Hey, what's up?" Harry said.

She jumped. "Merlin, Harry! Nothing, I was just looking." She dropped his hand. 

"See anything interesting?"

"Just a nice, normal hand. Feel better?"

He nodded. "What time is it?"

"About ten, maybe."

"I didn't think I was going to sleep."

"Why?"

_Too busy looking at you_, he thought, but just shrugged. She smiled at him. Her hair was mussed, and her lips were still red from kissing him, and he found himself shaking his head. 

"What?" she asked, frowning a little. 

"I can't believe you're here," he said wonderingly. "Still can't believe it."

"Well – here I am."

"I know."  
They looked at each other. Usually Harry wouldn't have been comfortable with such extended eye contact – in this case, he found he could meet her eye for as long as he liked. She was still smiling, and he got that feeling in his chest again. Like his heart was going too fast for his body. 

"You want to talk?" she asked softly.

"OK," he replied.

She shifted slightly closer, her smile fading into a set seriousness, and trailed her fingers across his chest briefly. He could feel himself coming up in goosebumps.

"What happened when you killed Voldemort?" she asked, after a long pause. 

He physically started, and then so did she, but she didn't stop looking at him. He did – he looked at the ceiling. 

"I don't want to talk about that," he said shortly. 

"Why not?"

"Why do you think?" he snapped, angry despite himself. 

"It's OK," she said, "you don't have to tell me. I just – I just wanted to talk about it."

She lay back on the pillow, clearly upset, but maintaining a brave face. 

Harry went on staring at the ceiling, and then sighed. He was being a dickhead – again. At least he knew it right away, this time. 

"Hey," he said, hands around her waist, pulling her towards him. She resisted at first, but then relaxed against him, her back to his front. He kissed her shoulder. "Sorry," he said. "Sorry, Gin. Just I don't want to think about it when you're here, and everything's going so great."

She turned to face him again, her expression grave. "You have to think about it sometime," she said plainly. "If you don't, it'll just sit inside and rot you away. And you don't have to protect me, Harry."  
_I'm not trying to protect you_, he thought. _I'm protecting myself_. 

"OK," he said finally. He cleared his throat. He didn't really know how to begin – he hadn't spoken to anybody about this. She didn't stare him down, and he was grateful. He had a feeling he wouldn't be able to talk if she was looking at him. 

"Well, I think you know the beginning of it. You were there. We were going alright, in the fighting. But then, after Lupin and Tonks died and Dumbledore went down, things started to fall apart. I lost track of a lot of the Aurors and Ministry people. Ron and Hermione were still with me, but they ended up – well, they weren't in a position to help me out, exactly. And there were Death Eaters, just – everywhere. You know. Just everywhere. And Voldemort in the middle of it."

Harry stopped, trying to compose himself as memories swelled up and up, out of the lower darkness and into that awake part of his brain. He shivered, almost without knowing it. He didn't know if he wanted to keep going, but Ginny was holding onto his arm, quite firmly, listening as she looked at his chest, the bed, anywhere but his face. He thought she was afraid he might stop talking. He was afraid of that himself.

She needed him to go on. He did. 

"And then, when there wasn't anyone to help, it was just me, and I was so scared because I knew it was either going to be my last minutes alive, or his. He didn't know that, though – I mean, he didn't believe it. He always thought it would be him who'd make it. I think because he never believed I'd kill him."

"But you did," Ginny pointed out in a quiet voice. 

"I know," he said, feeling ill, speaking too sharply, "but that doesn't make me proud of it. He may have been Voldemort, but I still killed someone. I pointed my wand at him and turned him into nothing."

It was hard to bear, seeing this unfold in his head like a terrible film, all flash and colour and screaming music. He pushed on nevertheless – now that he'd begun, the memories were relentless. Ginny was still gripping his arm.

"He just evaporated. And there was green light, like I remember from when my parents died. And I felt sick – I remember that too, I threw up. All over the floor. Ron came over, I think – the Death Eaters were still there, and – I was sick, I remember. I had a headache. My scar felt like it was exploding. I had a headache." He was near babbling now, repeating things. 

"Harry," Ginny said, almost to herself, and when he looked down at her, she was crying quietly. 

"I'm sorry," he said, "I'll stop."

"No!" she insisted, finally meeting his eye. She put a hand on either side of his face. "Don't stop, OK? I want you to tell me. You should – have someone to tell."

With her voice, and the cool touch of her fingers, he suddenly had control of himself again. The words dried up in his mouth, and the images in his head receded. 

"No," he said softly, wishing he could cover her ears, take back what he'd said so she wouldn't have to know. _Now _it was about protecting her, alright. "That's enough."

"Harry …"

"I'll tell you the rest another time." 

She nodded mutely. He knew she was relieved, and that was OK. She didn't have to want to hear it all – it was enough that she _said_ she wanted to, for him. 

"I'm really glad you asked me," he said, and found he meant it. 

She wiped her face self-consciously against the pillow-cover, and they lay in silence a while longer, recovering, coming back to their everyday selves. 

"You want to get up?" she asked finally. 

"If you are, I will."

Ginny smiled a bit. "I think I'll have a shower."

"I think I'll have one too. It's a bit small for both of us, I'm afraid."

"Harry," she said dryly, "I think you've been spending too much time with Fred and George."

Harry thought so too. 

~

They changed (Ginny into the jeans she'd been wearing the previous night, and one of Harry's shirts – 'It smells like you!' she'd commented, and he hoped that was a good thing), ate Mrs Weasley's snacks for breakfast, and then walked down to the twins' store. Fred and George greeted them from across the room with yodelling and fan-fares, and George charmed a customer's hat to sing 'It Must Be Love'. 

"Merlin," muttered Ginny, as every person in the shop stared at them. "You wouldn't happen to have your Invisibility Cloak around, would you?"

Harry shook his head, flattening his hair over his scar. "No, it's up in my room. Sorry."

"Come on," Ginny said, tugging on his arm as the twins approached. She pulled him out the door, Harry waving a brief and helpless goodbye. 

"Wait!" Fred cried, holding up a paper bag. "We have heart-shaped sweets for you!"

But they were out on the street again before he could reach them. 

It was strange how quickly Harry found a new joy in London. The anonymity he'd hated before now seemed like a blessing – he could hold Ginny's hand, touch her hair or her back, and not have to worry about what everyone else was thinking. He loved the closeness of her, the way she said certain words, the gentleness and the hardness in her. He loved the way she'd occasionally lean against him and hug him furiously, as though she'd just remembered she was allowed to do this. 

He was in love with her, and he was in love with everything about her. That was it. 

They discussed maybe going to visit Dumbledore again, but decided against it. Harry didn't honestly want to see the old Headmaster a second time. He just wanted him to get well. Ginny agreed. They wandered on, and window-shopped. Harry, who normally would have been bored stupid, enjoyed her company and comments so much that he didn't even realise it was getting on dark before she pointed it out. 

"We should go home," she said. 

He liked the way she said that – not 'the apartment', but 'home'. 

They didn't go out for dinner, although Fred and George were keen. They invited Angelina and Katie over instead, and the four of them made a ridiculous amount of noise (and drank copious glasses of wine). Harry and Ginny sat next to one another at the table and were quiet. She had her hand on his knee, and it made his throat dry. 

Harry didn't realise everyone was looking at them until he picked up on the sudden silence. The twins were grinning.

"Look at him," George said, shaking his head mournfully. 

"Lost," agreed Fred. 

"Gone forever."

"Absolutely bloody besotted."

Harry flushed. He wanted to say he didn't know what they were talking about, but he did. 

"Oh, shut it you two," Ginny said. 

Fred mimed zipping his mouth closed. 

"I think it's great," enthused Katie. "You guys look so happy together."

By now, both Harry _and_ Ginny were red. Thankfully, the twins had remembered some new prank-wands they were getting in stock, and decided to pull Katie and Angelina into the lounge room to show them. 

"You want to go to bed?" Ginny asked when they were gone, rubbing his knee. 

"Absolutely," Harry said immediately.

They stood, and practically ran to Harry's room. Ginny fell onto his bed while Harry performed a locking charm on the door, and then threw himself down beside her. The bed sagged a little under their combined weight, and she burst out laughing. 

"Not such a skinny little boy, after all," she teased.

He grinned. "Not exactly, no. Merlin, your brothers are exhausting."

"I know. Try being related to them. Thank heavens we got away." She bit her lip in that way she had, and he touched her mouth with two fingers. "What?" she asked. 

"I love it when you do that."

"Do what?"

He didn't say anything. He liked that she didn't know she was doing it. 

"Harry," she began after a while, and then stopped. 

"Yes?" he said, nudging her. 

"Was today – alright?"  
Harry raised his eyebrows. "Alright?"

"Mm."

"Was today alright?"

"Yes!" She laughed again, but only a little. She seemed anxious.

"Ginny," he said, unable to believe she couldn't know this, "today was great. And last night –" (because he sensed this was where her real apprehension lay) "was the best night of my life, bar none."

"Really?" she said, breaking into a slow smile. 

He kissed her by way of reply. Ginny sighed into his mouth, and then settled against him. "I don't want today to end," she admitted. 

"Why's that?"

"Things change so quickly. Three days ago I was sitting in my room all by myself. Now I'm here with you. I'm scared that – I just don't want things to change again," she finished hastily. 

Harry nodded, looking at her. "Well, I'm not – you know, planning on going anywhere," he said awkwardly.

He felt her smile against his skin, rather than saw it. 

"Good," she murmured. 


	19. Encountering Family

A/N – I know. Blatant fluff. I love it. (And John Mayer's public property – we'll all love him together hehe. _Guess_ who saw him in concert last week, 3rd row centre?!?). Anyway, ~here's to clarity~ Shez  

Harry loved sleeping with Ginny, in both senses of the word. In the one sense (_that _sense) it was – well, amazing. Humbling. Intoxicating. And then in that simpler, softer kind of 'sleep', when she lay with her eyes closed, and breathed slowly, and her leg drifted over across his leg … that was almost as good. 

Well. Good in a different way. 

At almost midnight, he got up (being very careful not to wake her – he practically had to dislocate his shoulder to manage it) and went riffling through the top drawer of the dresser for his letters. He sat down, his back against the end of the bed, and opened them up, laying them out on the floor in front of him. 

_OK_, said inner monologue. _What now?_

Harry had no idea. He'd always wanted real freedom – but now that he had so many bloody choices, it just scrambled his brain. 

He sighed loudly, and Ginny sat up. Hoping she might go back to sleep if he was quiet, he didn't say anything. He heard her move around a little, and then she must have realised he wasn't there, because she spoke to the dark room, sounding anxious.

"Harry?"

No way he could keep his mouth shut if she was worried.

"Hey," he said, turning and kneeling up so that he could see her. She smiled, clearly relieved but trying not to show it. 

"Hey." He looked back to his letters. She crawled forward to the end of the bed and peered over the top his head, resting a hand lightly on his bare shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Offers. I got them last night, before you came."

"That's exciting." Her voice was quite hoarse – with tiredness, Harry suspected. 

"You should sleep. You flew all the way from The Burrow last night," he said, reaching a hand up behind him to rub her arm. 

"I know. I will." 

She sounded strange. 

"What?" he asked. 

"Nothing." 

"What?"

She wriggled back to the pillow-end of the bed, and pulled the covers over herself. Harry abandoned his letters and followed her, lying on his stomach on top of the sheets. 

"What?" he repeated. "Are you alright?"

"Of course. I'm OK," she said. Her face was almost hidden by her hair, but her red ears gave her away again. 

"Tell me," he insisted, laughing a little, not sure what was happening, but determined to find out. 

"I just – I don't want to sleep by myself."

"What do you mean?"

"I like having you here, is all," she said. "I – it's just a bit creepy waking up on your own when there's supposed to be two of you."

Harry was surprised, to say the least. 

"You were scared?" he said in disbelief. 

"No!" she retorted. "Not scared. Just – well, a little, yeah. I don't like London night sounds. And you weren't in bed. And I thought – I don't know what I thought."

"Right," Harry said firmly, brushing her hair back from her face. "Listen up."

"You sound like Madame Hooch," she said, half-smiling. 

He ignored this. "You're not going to think I left in the middle of the night anymore, OK?"

"Harry …"

"Come on, agree."

She sighed, still smiling, and nodded. 

"And I'll do my _very _best to make sure you're not in bed on your own."

"Sure."

"As frequently as possible."

"Harry!" 

"Alright?"

"OK. Come on, get under the covers."

He did so, and she slipped her arms around his waist. He did the same to her. It was very comfortable. 

"You're a good guy, Harry," she said. 

"Glad you think so," he said lightly. 

"I mean it."

"And you're a good girl. The best."

She kissed his chest. It sent warm tingles down his back, and elsewhere. 

"I was just thinking how funny it is," she went on after a while. 

"How funny what is?"

"That we broke up because I was upset you thought I was a slag, and now here I am in bed with you."

"Remember how I said I'd never think you were a slag?"

"Yeah?"

"Still holds," he murmured.

She didn't reply, and he held her a little closer. He hoped he was saying the right things. It was what he felt, anyway. Girls were such complicated people. He didn't think he'd ever understand them properly. 

~

Harry was shaken awake. Somebody had hold of his shoulders and was jiggling him roughly. 

"Oi. Get up. Harry." 

"Wha–" he began tiredly, but stopped when he opened his eyes. 

Bill Weasley let go of him and stepped back, running a hand through his long hair. It wasn't slicked back into the usual ponytail, but was out around his face. He looked dishevelled, like he'd just rolled out of bed. He was wearing cotton boxers and an old, grey T-shirt. 

"Listen, Bill," Harry began instantly, shaking his head even as he looked, quite unconsciously, at Ginny. She was stirring beside him, sleepy and sexy and (Harry had the terrible feeling) not wearing all that many clothes. 

"Harry," Bill said briskly, "we've got no time for small talk and I'm frigging exhausted, so pay attention. Ginny, you too."

Ginny was up now, staring at him, opening and shutting her mouth in fury.

"What are you _doing_ here?" she said shrilly, suddenly finding voice and holding the sheets up to her chest. "I mean, for Merlin's sake, Bill!"

"I can't talk about this right now," he said impatiently, grimly. "I had to come, I didn't know what else to do. Mum was just over at our place, looking for you. She realised you weren't there almost right away, threw some things at me, and then Disapparated. I don't think it'll be long until she thinks of Fred and George."

_Holy shit, _Harry thought desperately. He'd never been on the receiving end of Mrs Weasley's anger, but he'd seen enough snippets to be scared. Even Ginny paled. 

"So I'd suggest," Bill went on, "that you get _into_ some clothes and get _out_ of bed with Harry."

She shot him a loaded look, but he just shrugged, unfazed. He glanced at Harry. The look said: _I'll deal with you later._

Harry tried not to think about this, and was just about to say something reassuring to Ginny, when there was a loud _crack_ from the direction of the living room, and purposeful footsteps marching around the apartment. 

All three of them started. Bill Disapparated instantly, even as Harry struggled out of bed to find some pants, and Ginny sat where she was, in shock.

"_Virginia Weasley_," came Mrs Weasley's strident voice. "Come out _this instant._"

"Ginny," Harry hissed, yanking at his jeans. He was practically falling over, but at least he had pants on.

"_Ginny!_" Mrs Weasley shouted. Merlin, she was right there in the corridor, opening doors as she went. 

"Ginny!" Harry repeated, urgently now, and she jumped and looked at him. 

"Harry!" she said frantically. 

"Get dressed!"

She swung herself out of bed in a frenzy of bed-sheets and red hair, and had just put on her shirt when Mrs Weasley slammed the door open. 

She saw Ginny before she saw Harry, and launched into a spiel that had clearly been pre-composed. 

"Virginia Weasley," she shouted, her face very red. "You lied to me, and you lied to your father! You even lied to Hermione! Not only that, you had your brother Bill lying along with you, and all so you could go gallivanting about with the twins. Well, it won't do, Ginny, it simply won't do. The twins have enough on their hands with the shop and – and – _Harry?_"

Now she'd seen him. Harry straightened, looked at Ginny (who had taken several steps back in the course of this diatribe, and was breathing hard as though she'd run a long way), and then looked back at Mrs Weasley. 

"Harry?" she said again, blinking, almost as though she couldn't understand what Harry and Ginny in the same bedroom, half-undressed, could mean. 

"Hi," Harry said lamely. 

Mrs Weasley's head swung slowly around to her daughter. Ginny was looking at her feet, but as Mrs Weasley stared at her, she raised her chin defiantly and met her eye. 

"Hi, Mum," Ginny said. 

"Well," Mrs Weasley breathed, after a long, tense pause. Harry really wanted to stand with Ginny, put his arm around her – help her _somehow_. But he was afraid that if he moved, Mrs Weasley would pounce on one or both of them, and that could only make things worse. 

"I know I lied," Ginny said tightly, only the slightest tremor in her voice. "But I'm alright. I was with Harry, anyway, and Fred and George."

"It might not have been alright," Mrs Weasley said, regaining some of her previous force. "Anything might have happened. And you _flew _here?"

"But I _am _alright. I'm fine."

You're coming home with me," Mrs Weasley replied. 

Harry couldn't be silent anymore.

"Mrs Weasley, she's fine," he burst out. "She's fine, like she said. There's no need to worry. She's a grown woman, and –"

"She's not Harry, she's a girl," Mrs Weasley snapped – when Harry looked closely, her eyes were shiny with tears. "And she lied to her mother, and she's coming home with me. What would we have done if you'd – fallen off your broom, or – or been mugged, or gotten lost or something?"

"Mum," Ginny began, rather helplessly, but Mrs Weasley cut her off.

"Get dressed, Ginny."

She left the room quickly.  

"Fuck," Ginny breathed. Harry had never heard her say that before. He looked at her from across the room, and she was looking right at him, too. 

"This is bad," she said heavily. "This is really bad."

"God, Gin, I'm sorry. I should've done something."

She put her hands in her hair. "No," she said, sounding tired now. "It would only have upset her if you'd said any more. Merlin, I'm so stupid!"

Harry moved over to her, took hold of her wrists, and pulled her hands down to her sides. 

"No you're not," he said. 

She smiled wryly. "You do realise she's never going to let me out of the house again?"

Harry shrugged, even though it gave him chest pains to think that she was leaving. "I'll break you out," he said.

"Even if it means you get on my mother's bad side?"

"I think I'm there already," he pointed out.

She put her arms around his neck. "I don't want to go," she said. 

_Don't,_ urged inner monologue, but he quickly silenced it. What was she going to do? Disapparate and hide somewhere until the coast was clear? This wasn't a spy novel. 

"I don't want you to either," he muttered into her neck. 

And at that point, he had an idea. 


	20. Returning

Harry released Ginny and strode over to his trunk, which was sitting open in the corner. 

"Get your stuff," he said, shoving down the clothes and things that were poking out of the top of his trunk, and then scooting around the room to pick up the rest.

"What?"

"Go, get your stuff, come on," Harry said, cramming items into his luggage haphazardly.

"Harry, what stuff?"

"OK," he conceded. "Then help me."  
Still bemused, she put her jeans on and then helped him pack. Hedwig was asleep – when they were done, Harry took her cage in one hand, and his trunk in the other, and stood in the doorway. He surveyed the room, checking he had it all.

_Ah well_, he thought, a bit giddy with the suddenness of his idea. _I'll just _Accio _things if I need to. _

"Harry," Ginny said, exasperated, picking up her broom and coming over to him. "What is this all about?"

"You'll see," Harry replied, grinning. 

Ginny groaned and snatched Hedwig's cage away from him. The owl opened one eye and hooted softly as her cage swung. "I hate it when you're sneaky," Ginny said.

Harry shrugged. He still didn't know if it was going to work yet. It would certainly be embarrassing if it didn't.

Ginny went ahead of him down the corridor, while Harry followed with his heavy trunk. He couldn't be bothered to charm it to levitate – and besides, he hopefully wouldn't have to take the thing far. 

Mrs Weasley was standing in front of the fireplace in the living room, a decidedly conflicted expression playing across her features. She looked angry and confused and even a little frightened, and she jumped when Harry's trunk thumped against the wall as they entered.

"Do you have everything, Ginny?" she said, calmer than before, but not exactly herself. 

"Er – yes," Ginny replied, looking at Harry as if to say _Well, go on then._

"Harry. You have your things," Mrs Weasley said, just as he was opening his mouth. 

_Way to steal my thunder_ he thought.

"Yeah. Um – I thought I'd come home with you actually."

Ginny had to suppress a smile, and looked studiously out the window. 

Mrs Weasley stared at him. 

"What do you mean?" she said eventually, when it was clear he wasn't going to elaborate. 

"I thought I'd come back to The Burrow. London's not really for me."

Mrs Weasley looked quite flustered now. Clearly, she wanted to get Ginny on her own, but her soft spot for Harry was kicking back on her. 

"But – you know, if that's not alright with you, I understand," Harry said quickly. "I'd – understand if I wasn't welcome."  
Sure, he was playing her a bit. But there was also truth in what he said, and he felt a definite relief when Mrs Weasley cut in.

"You know you're always welcome with us. That's what I said. But – it's just –" She looked from Ginny to Harry, and then waved a hand feebly. "I don't know."

"It won't be for long," Harry added. "Just till the end of the summer. If I'm going to be in your hair, honestly, I'll stay right here."

"No," Mrs Weasley said immediately. "It's alright, Harry. No. You come back with us."

Harry tried not to grin. If Ginny was leaving, then he was going with her – and he knew Mrs Weasley couldn't resist him. 

There was a relatively uncomfortable silence, and then Mrs Weasley bustled into action. 

"You go on, Ginny," she said. "And don't go running off once you're home, either."

"Yes, Mum," Ginny sighed, her barely-concealed smile fading. She took some Floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece, and then stepped into the fireplace, which promptly spirited her away. 

"You now, Harry," instructed Mrs Weasley. 

"Sure. And thanks."

He stepped into the fire, dragging his trunk after him. Mrs Weasley had Hedwig's cage. He was just about to Floo himself to The Burrow, when she spoke. 

"Harry," she said.

"Yes?"

Her eyes glinted. "You know I'd never turn you away if you needed us – but there won't be any funny business, will there?" 

Harry swallowed, considering this, wondering if he dared to say what he really thought.

_Come on_ muttered inner monologue. _Say it now. No more secrets. She's seen enough as it is._

"Well," Harry said eventually, "I can't exactly promise that."

And as she raised her eyebrows sky-high, he quickly dropped his powder and shouted for The Burrow, unable to believe his own nerve. 

~

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed as soon as he stumbled out of the fire, his trunk falling forwards. She brushed ash from his shoulders, and then hugged him. 

"Bloody hell," he said. "Did all that really happen?"

"Yep. And your little plan worked. I told you Mum'd love you forever."

"Well, I'm not so sure of that," he began, but then there was a rush of flame and dust as Mrs Weasley was transported into the living room fireplace. Harry dropped his arms from around Ginny's waist, but she took his hand firmly as her mother righted herself. 

"It's alright," Ginny murmured. "We can do this."

Mrs Weasley looked at them, long and hard, while Harry kicked himself inside his head. _Shit, Potter, is it really so difficult to just _lie_?_ he thought furiously. _Why couldn't you have said 'Of course, Mrs Weasley, no funny business at all', and just carried on? _Now he'd very likely be thrown out of the house.

"Let's talk," said Mrs Weasley. 

"Mum, please –" Ginny started, but Mrs Weasley cut her off, rather shrilly. 

"Virigina, I'm trying to be understanding here, so don't push me, alright? Now come and sit down."

She went into the kitchen, and Harry and Ginny followed reluctantly. When they entered, she'd pulled up a chair at the crooked kitchen table and was sitting with her hands folded. Harry swallowed nervously. They were about to have _this_ conversation. With Mrs Weasley. The person closest to his mum in the world. Good Lord. He steeled himself, prepared for the worst.

Once they were all seated, Mrs Weasley opened her mouth, but didn't seem to know what to say. She shut it, and thought. Then she opened it again. 

"Ginny, you may be alright, but that doesn't make what you _did _alright. You lied to us when you should have told us the truth."

"I couldn't," Ginny said immediately, "because then you wouldn't have let me go, would you?"

Silence. 

"Well, would you?" she insisted. 

"No," said Mrs Weasley, after another long pause, rather quietly. In fact, she sounded tired, and Harry noticed for the first time the shadows under her eyes. "Can you blame me?"

Now it was Ginny's turn to be silent. Harry glanced at her – her head was bowed, her face screen by her bright hair. He didn't know what to do, but tightened his grip on her hand. This felt like a private conversation. He wasn't sure if he should be there.

"I just – I don't want you to grow up so quickly," Mrs Weasley went on, almost speaking to herself, he thought. "You're my last baby. I've already lost one."

"I know," Ginny said, still not raising her eyes. "But you can't lock me away, Mum. This – was important to me. I – well, I thought – I didn't think you'd understand." 

She struggled for more words, but clearly couldn't find them. 

_This isn't what I expected_, Harry thought. _I expected – _

"Sex," Mrs Weasley said suddenly. 

Ah. There we go. 

He felt his cheeks redden, and wished he could stop them. 

"Sex," she went on, "is complicated."

"OK, Mum," Ginny said, sounding mortified, but Mrs Weasley was obviously making an effort to return to her normal self, and wasn't going to be swayed.

"It's a big step in a relationship, and it shouldn't be taken lightly."

"Mum," Ginny groaned. "Please."

"I know what young people are like," she continued, relentless. "They just don't think practically. All the boys were the same."

"Mum!"

"Are you using a Contraceptive Charm, Ginny?"

Harry didn't even know. He felt immediately irresponsible – Mrs Weasley had that effect on people, when she wanted to. 

"Yes," Ginny said lowly, flushing. "Merlin, Mum, we're not stupid. I can't believe I'm talking to you about this."

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said. 

Inwardly, he cringed and curled up in the foetal position. Outwardly, he squared his shoulders and met her eye. 

"Yes?"

"You may think this is all fun and games, but it's not."

"Mum!" Ginny said wildly, not for the first time.

"I know," Harry agreed, valiantly maintaining eye contact. "I know that, Mrs Weasley."

Her face softened, just a little. "I love you like you're my own, Harry," she said, "and I don't mind that you and Ginny are – seeing each other. But that doesn't mean I want you two sleeping together in my house. If you're going to stay here, that's my basic ground rule. If you don't like it, you'd better be off to London again."

Ginny had her head in her hands, but was peeking at him out of the corner of her eye. He could see her. She was worried, and he thought he knew why. It wasn't about her mum anymore. She was afraid that Harry might just take up on Mrs Weasley's offer, and look for someone easier. 

Not likely. 

"That's OK," Harry said, clearing his throat. "We're – not just about that. And I'm not going back to London, if that's alright."

Mrs Weasley smiled a small smile at him. 

"Well," she said softly, and he knew that, on some level (beyond the one that was freaking out about her daughter growing up, and being in bed with a boy) she was happy about what he'd said. "I'm glad you're back, Harry – even if it was – like this."

He nodded, sighing quietly in relief. He thought they'd managed nicely, all things considered. 

"Ginny," Mrs Weasley said sternly. 

Ginny took away her hands and looked at her mother. 

"You still lied and left the house without permission. And no matter what reasons you had, that was – inconsiderate. You can help me around the house for the next few days."

Ginny nodded wordlessly. 

"And Harry?"

"Yes?"

She paused. "You can too."

With that, she stood and went out the kitchen door into the garden. 

There was a short silence. 

"Well," Harry said finally. "That wasn't so bad."  
Ginny exhaled, laughed wearily, and leant against him. "Merlin. I'm sorry." 

"Don't be silly. It was nothing." Bloody scary was what it had been, but if it meant he could stay with Ginny, he didn't mind so much.

She hesitated. "You know, Harry –" she began, and then stopped. 

"What?"

"If you do want to go back to London," she said in a rush, "and just didn't want to say in front of Mum, that's alright." 

He knocked her lightly over the head. "You're crazy," he said. "After all this, you still think I might not want to stay?"

"I don't know," she mumbled. 

"I couldn't stand London without you."

"I mean, we won't be able to – you know, and it'll be awkward as arse around Mum for a while, and –"

"I meant what I said. You kn- sex isn't all we have, Gin."

"I know. I know that."

"Not to say it isn't great," he added, grinning. 

She smiled a little, but didn't reply.

"Hey." He nudged her and she looked at him properly. "When I said – that night you flew to my room – well, when I said – what I said –"

This was harder to repeat than he'd imagined. He floundered, searching for the right words, the right way, and in the end she saved him. 

"OK, Harry," she said softly. "OK."

They sat like that for a little while, her head resting against his chest, bodies on separate chairs. Harry found that, when they were like this, he could forget about Mrs Weasley talking about sex, and Bill probably wanting to slaughter him, and the twins when they saw tonight that he'd left without saying goodbye, and his letters of placement, and even Voldemort. These moments with Ginny were self-contained. They were sharp pieces of happiness within the other heavy worries. 

"Well!" said a cheery voice.   
Harry and Ginny jumped and turned, almost in unison. Hermione was standing at the bottom of the stairs, grinning widely and crossing her arms over her chest. 

"Look who's back," she said. "And so soon. City life didn't agree with you?"

"Not exactly, no," Harry said, moving to hug her. 

When Hermione released him, she looked to Ginny, who was still sitting at the table.

"I can't believe you did that," she said. 

"Me neither."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Ginny shrugged helplessly. "I didn't want anyone to know. Sorry, 'Mione."

Hermione looked at her a moment longer, and then flapped a hand as though to say 'pah!' "Doesn't matter, anyway. As long as you're OK. Are you OK?

Ginny came over to stand next to Harry. 

"Yeah," she said, her hand snaking into his. "I'm fine."

Hermione smiled contentedly at them. "Good. Good, I'm glad."

"Where's Ron?"

"Fishing. I didn't want to go, but you know what he's like. He gets an idea in his head and then runs with it, especially if I disagree." She shook her head, and glanced sidelong at Harry. "He missed you."

"I missed him, too," replied Harry, realising as he said the words that it was true.

"Why don't you go find him?" Hermione suggested. "Me and Ginny can chat."

Harry looked at Ginny, who smiled and nodded. He wasn't exactly sure he could let her go right away, but she solved the problem for him by releasing his hand and linking arms with Hermione. He felt immediately bereft. 

"Er – OK," Harry agreed. 

"See you later," Ginny said, and then, as though on second thoughts, bent forward to kiss him gently on the lips. "Sorry," she whispered, so only he could hear. 

"S'alright," he said quietly back. 

Then she was leaning away again, and leaving the kitchen, giggling with Hermione. 

It was funny. He wanted her back almost before she was gone.

~

Thanks for all reviews guys (especially the old faithfuls who've been with me since I started this). Keep R&Ring, I love reading your comments. Don't worry – answers to your questions WILL be revealed, but all in the fullness of time. ~I'll be around~ Shez XXOO


	21. Dining In

*A/N – Grr! Damn computer won't load the damn italics! Ah well, you know where they go (in inner monologue and Harry's thought bits). Blast the internet and all fanfic.net complications! Thank you for reviewing (you can be an old faithful if you want, Smidget!), I love it, love it. :) Keep R&Ring, padawans… ~98 and 6 degrees of separation~ Shez

~

Harry flew out, and soon spotted Ron beside the stream they'd often picnicked at. He had thrown his rod down and was proceeding to kick it violently. His mouth was moving – Harry was pretty sure he was swearing. 

"Oi!" Harry shouted. 

Ron craned his neck, startled, and his face lit up. 

"Hey!" he replied. "Come down here!"

Harry did so, sailing gently to earth and stepping off his broom once he'd touched down. Ron strode towards him, grinning widely. 

"Hey!" he said again. "You're back."

"Yeah." 

"Thank Merlin. I love 'Mione, but – well, I missed you, mate. What about Ginny?"  
What about Ginny? Harry thought. What does he know? 

"Er – she's back, too," he said eventually. 

"Oh. I just wondered if you'd seen her – but she's home, is she? How did she like Bill's?"

"She – wasn't at Bill's." Hadn't Hermione told him?

"I thought she said she was. In the note."

"Ah – she lied."

Ron was frowning now. "So where was she?"

"At Fred and George's. With me."

"With you?"

"Yeah."  
Ron's smile returned, slowly. "You made up?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah. We did."  
Ron whooped. "She went all the way to London? And risked our Mum getting mad and everything? She must really like you, Harry. And she was with you and the twins all this time?"

"Yeah, she was."

"Come to think of it, Hermione did seem a bit weird when she read Gin's note. I think she might have guessed. Wonder why she didn't say anything? Girls, bloody hell."

Harry didn't want to talk about Ginny anymore. Ron might like the two of them dating, but he had a feeling he wouldn't be so understanding about them sleeping together. And he was pretty sure something along the lines of 'What did you do all that time?' was going to come up, and he didn't think he could lie about that. 

He would get around to coming out with it. Just not this moment. 

"Still fishing?" he asked, before Ron could open his mouth again.   
Ron's face changed. Harry knew he'd forgotten about his sister, if only briefly. "You could call it fishing," he said darkly. "You could also call it standing on the bank looking like a bloody wanker. I thought Dad said this was easy?" 

He jogged over to his rod, which was broken, and kicked it once more for good measure. Harry followed. Mr Weasley was constantly badgering his sons to take an interest in Muggle Studies, and Ron had thrown himself into fishing with surprising fervour. His only problem was that – well, he just wasn't very good at it. 

"I don't know," Harry said, looking at the tangle of snapped woods and plastic line. "I've never fished before either."

"And I don't think I will again," said Ron decidedly, sitting down on the grass. "I haven't caught a single thing this summer."

"That's not true," Harry pointed out. "You caught a weed one time."

Ron shook his head hopelessly. 

Harry wanted to ask about him and Hermione, but wasn't sure if it was exactly polite. Not that he'd ever worried about being polite with Ron before. Screw it – "Are you and 'Mione still –" he began, but Ron cut him off quickly.

"Mm," he said, evading eye contact. "Yeah."

"Right. It was probably a good thing we were gone then. So you could, you know, have some privacy."

"Uh-huh. Well – I guess it was good, in some ways." Ron didn't say anything more. He was plucking at the grass, clearly embarrassed.  

Maybe you should just tell him, urged inner monologue. Just say it, or you're going to be carrying this around with you for the rest of the summer. Say it, Potter. Say it!

"Ron," Harry said.

"What?" 

Ron looked up expectantly, and Harry stopped. He tested the words out inwardly. "Guess what? I'm sleeping with your sister." Even in his head, it sounded ludicrous. There was no way he could tell Ron. Not now. Not cold turkey like this. He'd have to psych himself up – and speak to Ginny, come to think of it. 

"Er – it's good to be back," he said finally. "It's just – good to be back."

Ron blinked at him, and then nodded. "Right. Well, good to have you. Did Mum do her nut about Ginny?"  
Harry told the story (with several omissions), and they sat there for a while, talking about London and other things, and watching the water go past. 

~

Harry decided to shower and change before dinner. He wanted to make a good impression – it was weird to feel this about the Weasleys, who were like family, but he couldn't help it. He presumed Mrs Weasley had told (or would tell) Mr Weasley about him and Ginny, and that in particular had him worried. He'd never really had to deal with a girl's father before, and certainly not when the man in question knew that he'd been – well – 

"Shit," Harry said miserably, standing in front of the mirror in his towel. He ruffled his charmed-dry hair (in a gesture uncannily like his own father's) and wished it would just go where it ought to instead of sticking up in all directions. 

There was a soft knock on the door.

"Who's there?" he asked warily, tightening the knot on his towel. 

"It's me," said Ginny. "Can I come in?"  
Ginny. He hadn't seen her alone since this morning; she'd been off with Hermione for most of the day. He felt a sudden lurch in his stomach at the thought of her, and hurried for the door. 

He opened it, and she slipped inside quietly, pressing it shut behind her. Her hair was loose and she was smiling. He felt overwhelmingly glad to have her to himself. 

"You look beautiful," he said. 

She shook her head a bit, and then glanced at his towel. "So do you," she said, grinning. "Been prettying up, have we?"

He pointed a finger at her. "Don't joke about this. I'm friggin' nervous. Is your dad coming?"

"Yes. Didn't I tell you?"

He turned back to the mirror and ran a hand over his hair again. It looked worse than before and he groaned. "Yeah, you did. I just – bloody hell, Ginny."

She stepped up behind him, and turned him around. 

"Bow your head," she said. 

"What?"

"Bend."

He tilted his head towards her uncertainly. Ginny reached up, put her hands in his hair, and scraped them through. Then she plucked at a few little bits, and brushed other parts back. It felt quite nice actually, like a massage. 

"There," she said after almost a minute. "Done."    

He spun around – the mirror showed him a head of hair with the perfect balance of scruff and respectability. Ginny peeked over his shoulder, grinning. 

"How'd you do that?" he said wonderingly. 

She shrugged modestly. "It's a girl thing. And I love your hair."

He turned back to her. "You do?"

"Yeah."

He tucked hers behind one ear. "I love yours," he said quietly. 

I love you, muttered inner monologue, but he didn't say that. He just looked at her. 

"What?" she asked, tipping her head to one side. 

"Nothing. Are my jeans here?"

She picked them up and handed them to him. "Picking up after you already, am I?" she teased. 

"Sounds good," he said, smiling. "Do my hair, fetch my clothes. Otherwise I just won't get out of bed –"

"And I'll have to keep you company," she finished for him. "OK."

They looked at each other a little longer. 

"Er – I'd better get changed," Harry said. He didn't want to stare at her, but it was damn hard. 

"Right." 

"So –" he said pointedly. 

"What?"

"I have to change."

She frowned at him, and then understood.

"Oh, right!" she repeated, flushing, laughing nervously. "Right. Sorry." She practically leapt for the door. 

"Just 'cos I don't want your mum to come in, and think – you know, whatever she might think," Harry explained, flushing himself, suddenly very aware of being undressed. It was a bit different to being in bed with her, anyway.

"No, you're right. I forgot. Well, good luck," she said quickly, and ducked back out into the hall, clicking the door shut behind her. 

A few seconds later, Harry looked at his hair, and smiled again. He didn't know what she'd done, but it was just right. 

He felt that way about her in general. 

Now the big question: How was he going to get his T-shirt over his head without wrecking her work?

~

They sat down to an indoor dinner at seven o'clock, Ginny on his right side, Ron on his left. Mr Weasley sat opposite him, and Mrs Weasley's place was beside him – at that moment she was in the kitchen, charming her plates to bring themselves out. Hermione was next to Ron. They were sitting at the dining room table – mostly they didn't bother with the dining room, but for some reason Mrs Weasley had insisted tonight. The room opened onto the living room on one side.

It felt a bit empty without the twins. Nobody was saying much, except Ron and Hermione, who murmured to one another in a soft undertone. 

Harry snuck his first look at Mr Weasley. 

Not good. Mr Weasley was narrowing his eyes at Ginny, and as Harry glanced up, swung his gaze over to him. Harry forced himself to sustain eye-contact. 

"Hello, Mr Weasley," he said, his voice choked. He cleared his throat loudly. There was a brief pause in which everyone at the table looked at Mr Weasley. 

"Hello, Harry," he said, rather coolly. 

Crap. This wasn't going at all well, and they hadn't even started eating yet. 

"Working hard at the Ministry?" Harry went on, even as he felt a sharp pain in his ankle – Ginny had kicked him. Should he shut up? Oh well, too late now.

"Not too hard, no," Mr Weasley said, quite bleakly, staring him down. "And how was London?"

Harry swallowed. 

At this point, Mrs Weasley came in, holding one plate, the rest following her in the air. Hermione and Ron leapt up to help her, clearly uncomfortable with the tension at table, and Mr Weasley stopped eyeing Harry when he saw his wife. 

Mrs Weasley took one look at Harry's face, and her husband's busy fiddling with his napkin, and understood what was going on.

"Well," she said brightly. "Let's eat, shall we?"

"Yeah, let's," said Ron, setting down the plate he was carrying, and feeling for a serving spoon.

"It smells great," added Hermione.

"And what have you all been doing today?" Mrs Weasley continued, once everyone's plates were loaded with food. 

"Ginny and I took a walk behind the house," Hermione said promptly. 

"Me and Harry went fishing," said Ron, with equal speed. 

They were like a two-person comedy routine, one line coming after another. 

Mrs Weasley glanced sidelong at her husband. He had his eyes fixed on his plate. 

"That's lovely," she said. "You must have enjoyed that, Harry and Ginny, after your time in London."

"Yes, it was lovely," Harry said, feeling like a parrot. 

"Lovely," agreed Ginny.

He'd expected better than this. An explosion, at least. A confrontation. Not just this awkward, forced friendliness. 

They ate in silence a while longer. Then, quite suddenly, Mr Weasley put down his knife and fork. 

"So Harry," he said. 

Harry stopped eating. Ginny's hand touched his knee lightly, and then moved away again. 

"Er – yes, sir? I mean, Mr Weasley," he corrected himself hastily.

"Enjoy London?"

"Ah – yes. I think I did. It's not as nice as here."

"I'll bet," he said grimly. "Well, I'm sure you and Ginny had a marvellous time."

"Dad," Ginny said sharply. 

"What?" he retorted. 

"Arthur!" hissed Mrs Weasley. 

"What?" he said again, touchily. 

The fire in the living room crackled and spewed ash as somebody stumbled out. 

It was Billy. He dusted himself off quickly, and then came into the kitchen. 

"Bill!" Mrs Weasley exclaimed. "What on earth are you doing here?"

"After the beating I got from you this morning, you mean?" he said wryly. "I thought I'd –" His gaze drifted across to Harry, and at this point his tone became decidedly more serious. "I thought I'd drop by."

"Fuck," Harry muttered under his breath, as Bill found a chair and Mrs Weasley bustled off to find him a plate.

"Easy, mate," Ron said lowly. "What's all this about, anyway?"

No time  to explain (not that Harry bloody wanted to), because Bill was back, his plate full. He didn't pick up his cutlery, though. He raised his eyebrows at Harry. 

"How are you?" he said sharply. 

"Good," Harry managed. 

"Uh-huh. Home life agreeing with you?"

"Sure."

"Better than London home life?" he said meaningfully, even nodding his head towards Ginny. Mrs Weasley was still out of the room, and Ginny (who had also stopped eating) looked mortified. He had absolutely nothing to say. 

Sweet Merlin, Harry thought desperately, this cannot get worse. 

Another burst from the fireplace, and this time two somebodies staggered into the room. 

"Hello," said Fred, tousling his hair to remove loose ash. George coughed dramatically. Everyone swivelled to stare at them.

Mrs Weasley came out of the kitchen and started when she saw the twins saunter in. 

"What is this?" she demanded suspiciously. "Are you boys in trouble?"

"Certainly not," said George, as he and his twin pulled up chairs. 

"I can't believe you'd even consider such a thing, Mother," said Fred indignantly.

"Preposterous," agreed George. "No, we just thought we'd drop by. See how the little 'uns were coming along."

Here, he grinned wickedly at Harry, who visibly sunk down in his seat. 

It could, and had, gotten worse. 


	22. Letting It Out

A/N: How come you guys are so nice?! I'm tearing up here! I'm sendin' you my love – I think I would have fizzled out long before this without you. As it is, I'm inspired. Many, many thanks ~Shezzly~ (PS- Melindaleo, I'm totally on your wavelength in terms of balancing fluff with angst about V. It will all happen. ~nm3x5s~ and ta) PPS – Meegly! Get off the computer and go do some work! Hehehe…PPS – Bloody, bloody italics! Why won't they BLOODY work? Will someone explain to me! Damn it – well, you know the drill – insert them in the thoughts etc.

~

"What is this?" Mrs Weasley said in astonishment. "Meeting of the Weasley clan?"

"No," said the three of them immediately, a picture of innocence. 

Mrs Weasley put her hands on her hips and narrowed her eyes. The twins narrowed theirs back.

"Why do you think we're here, Mum?" Bill said, rather tensely, after a few moments of this scrutiny. He threw a look at Harry, who flushed. He wanted to say something, but preferably something that would avoid a pummelling. 

Mrs Weasley sighed. Harry had a feeling she'd known the reason all along, but just hadn't wanted to acknowledge it. 

"This isn't really the time or place," she said, sitting down. 

"Here, here," said Fred. "Shall we eat? Or would Harry prefer to shag our sister upstairs?"

The entire table launched into motion as Bill stood up abruptly, shouting at his brother; Harry dropped his head onto the table; Ginny covered her face with her hands; Ron started violently while Hermione attempted to calm him; and Mr Weasley (ever a contained man) began to tremble. It was a flurry of action and sudden abuse, with Mrs Weasley standing herself, in a wild effort to control her family. 

"You wanker!" shouted Bill. 

"What? It's true," Fred retorted.

"Good on him," George said defensively. 

"Good on him? Good bloody on him? He's having sex with our sister! How long have you even been dating?" he said, turning on Harry, who didn't even raise his head. When he got no response, he quickly faced the twins again. "You should have stopped him."

"What?" Fred said disgustedly. "Are we Ginny's keepers, now?"

"Are we going to pull her out of Harry's bed and say 'Gin, darling, we don't think you should be here, p'raps you could trot of home now?"

"What. Is. Going. On." Ron bellowed.

"Don't shout!" said Hermione, and he just flapped a hand at her. He'd gone bright red, but his brothers weren't paying much attention, still arguing amongst themselves. He looked hard at Harry. 

"Are they kidding?" he asked, quiet suddenly, his voice almost faint. 

Tell him? wondered inner monologue. 

Why not? Harry thought bitterly. The rest of the world knows. 

That didn't mean he could meet Ron's eye. He shook his head against the table instead – No, they weren't kidding. 

Ron sat back heavily, struck dumb. Hermione rubbed a hand up and down his arm anxiously. 

"Boys!" Mrs Weasley was screeching. "Boys, stop it!"

It was water off a wet duck's back. Bill and the twins kept on at one another, their abuse growing steadily more violent. Ron didn't move. Hermione was murmuring to him. Mrs Weasley's voice had ascended into shrieking range. It wasn't until Mr Weasley banged his glass hard on the table, three times, that they began to hush. On the third time, it broke, with a sharp shattering, and then – silence reigned. 

A few moments into this quiet, Ginny pushed her chair back. It made a scraping sound on the floorboards. She stood, and Harry stood too, but she ignored him and walked quickly out. 

Everyone listened to her footsteps going up the stairs, and then breathed an almost collective sigh at the audible click of her door closing. 

"Glass reparo," muttered Mr Weasley, pulling out his wand. His glass re-formed. 

"This is all your fault," Bill said, jerking his head at Fred. 

"'Tis not!" protested Fred. 

"Maybe it is," acknowledged George, "just a bit."

"Thanks. Way to support your other half."

"Well, I'm just trying to be honest."

"Boys," Mrs Weasley said warningly, "let's not do this again."

"But –" Bill began impatiently.

All this while, Harry had been standing, the image of a bleak-faced Ginny leaving the dining room playing repeatedly through his head, and a slow anger building in his body. 

It's all of their faults, whispered inner monologue, because they're being childish. And ridiculous. Not to mention they've upset Ginny. 

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said gently, "sit down, dear."

No, he thought forcefully. 

"No," he said. 

She looked taken-aback. Everybody stared at him, including the still ashen-faced Ron. 

"No?" she repeated, sounding bemused. 

Tell them, urged inner monologue. 

I will, he thought, his anger rising to the surface now, and spilling over into words. 

"No," he said heatedly. "I won't. You're all being ridiculous. Yes, I slept with your sister – or your daughter – whatever, I slept with her. And I'm not bloody sorry either, because there's nothing to be sorry about. I love her, OK? We love each other. She's not a little girl, she can make her own decisions, and if she wants to go to bed with me, then she will. And I'm sorry if what we've done upsets you, because you're pretty much my family, but like I said, I'm not sorry we did it."

He paused for air. Every person had their eyes fixed on him, even the twins. George was chewing slowly. Harry couldn't read any of their expressions. He was too wound up. 

"And now," he went on, almost breathless, "she's upset, and it's your fault. I – I really appreciate you having me, but if it's going to be like this, then maybe I should just leave. I don't think I'm welcome."

"Harry," Mrs Weasley said, a bit weakly.

"Don't worry about it, Mrs Weasley," he said, stepping away from the table and pushing in his chair. "Thanks for dinner. Sorry about – sorry."

And with that, he left the room, feeling hot and furious and full of adrenaline. He practically ran up the stairs, and tossed himself down on the mattress in Ron's room, Alohamora-ing the door as he went. 

He breathed hard for several seconds. Then he forced himself to think properly.

Good Lord. What had he just done?

You said what had to be said, inner monologue assured him firmly. 

Yes, he thought, his anger fading a little, and a certain doubt creeping up in its place, but now they hate me for real.

He supposed it would have had to come out eventually – it was just bad luck that Bill and the twins decided to show up now, and push for explanations so early. At least he could have been composed, if they'd waited. Could have his mind made up about what he'd say and how. Could have convinced them. 

But in the back of his mind, he had a feeling things would have turned out in much the same way, no matter when he'd sprung the news. Fred and George stirring up trouble, Bill protective, Mr Weasley speechless with fury, Mrs Weasley (already in the know, and, for some reason, on their side) attempting to calm them – and Ron – 

Ron.

He groaned aloud. How was he going to talk to Ron? What would he say? How could he ever look him in the eye again? He remembered his face (seen out of the corner of Harry's eye) as Harry had shaken his head – how it paled, how he had to sit back. He didn't like hearing that one little bit. 

"Merlin," Harry muttered. 

It had been – would continue to be – awkward. He probably would have to leave. In fact, he thought he'd be lucky to stay the night. 

But still, besides all that … he was oddly glad he's said it. 

~

That night, Ron didn't come back to their room, and Harry fell asleep in his clothes. He slept badly, and for the first time in a while found himself in nightmare again – stumbling through dark halls, and then finding Voldemort in a room full of people, living and dead, all looking at Harry with bright, blameful eyes. He knew Ginny was in the room somewhere, but no matter how many people he pushed past, or how loudly he called her name, he couldn't find her. And then finding Ginny became finding Sirius, which became finding Voldemort, who drew further and further away the faster Harry went towards him, and all he could hear was that high, cold laughter like the instant Harry pointed his wand at him –

He sat up, hot, sweating, with a dry throat. It took him almost a minute to calm, and even once he'd wiped his face and clenched his fists a few times to stop his fingers shaking, he knew he couldn't go back to sleep.    
Harry got out of bed instead, changed his damp shirt, and padded down the hall to Ginny and Hermione's room. He didn't even think about Bill and the twins. Hopefully they'd gone home, but quite frankly, he didn't care at that moment. 

He tapped softly on the door, and when he got no reply, opened it and slipped inside. Hermione wasn't in bed – her covers were still smooth, her pillow untouched – but Ginny was. He looked at her from the doorway. She had moonlight on her face. As usual, she'd tipped the covers off herself, and they lay crumpled in a pile at her feet. She was frowning in her sleep.  
Harry went to sit on the end of her bed, and she woke immediately. 

"Hey," she began crankily, and then stopped when she saw him. "Oh, hey," she repeated, half smiling. 

"Hey," he said. 

She turned her head a little to squint out the window. "It's late," she said hoarsely.

"I know. Sorry. I –"

Harry didn't know how to say it without sounding like a poonce. 

"What?"

"Can I come in there with you?"

She hesitated briefly, and then nodded. Harry lay down next to her, and then grabbed the covers, pulling them up and over their bodies. It felt like ages since he'd been this close to her. Almost instinctively, she edged towards him. Her leg touched his, and he couldn't help but put his arms around her. He held her rather tightly, and she responded in kind, rubbing his back gently. 

"It's OK," she said into his shoulder. "It doesn't matter."

"I'm sorry."

"Why?"

"I don't want to complicate your life."

"You don't."

"Oh, come on."

"Well, you do. But in a good way. I want you to."

"Your dad hates me."

"He'll get over it."

"Your brothers hate me."

"Shut up, Harry."

They lay in silence for some time. When Harry spoke next, it was over her head. He didn't want her to look at him. 

"Ginny?"

"Mm?"

"Am I a bad person?"

She shifted sharply, tilting her head back to see him. He avoided eye contact. 

"What are you talking about?" she demanded. 

"I don't – never mind."

"Harry, for Merlin's sake."

"I just – I wonder if maybe – just I have these dreams."  
Brief pause. 

"What sort of dreams?"

"Where I – you know – where I kill him again."

Longer pause this time, and then she reached up to touch his chin. 

"You have nightmares about Voldemort?" she asked softly. 

He nodded. He didn't trust himself to speak.

"Have you told anyone?"

He shook his head. 

"Not even Madame Pomfrey? I thought she gave you a potion …" 

"I think I talked in my sleep in the hospital wing," he interrupted quickly. "I think that's why."

Long, long pause. She stroked the side of his face, almost absently. 

"Why do you think you're a bad person?" she whispered. 

He shrugged. "Because – I killed someone," he managed eventually. 

"You killed a dark wizard who killed a whole lot of other people, and who would have gone on doing that."

"I know – I know. I just – forget it. It doesn't matter."

"It does," she insisted quietly. 

Harry said nothing, and Ginny didn't press him. Not long afterwards, they fell asleep, and Harry didn't dream of Voldemort – there was just stifling blackness, and the smell of her hair.


	23. Morning

*A/N: I know, it's been longer than usual. Have been organising a surprise party (hey Meegly aka the-love-of-ron…) and therefore only getting little snatches of time to work on this. I was going to make this chap longer, but thought I'd just get it out there instead. (Your review made my day, Trav – thank you, thank you!). ~98n6 degrees~ Shez

Harry woke up when he heard the bedroom door creaking open, and soft voices, and light footsteps in the hall. He didn't shift much, hoping not to wake Ginny, but lifted his head from the pillow to see. 

Hermione was coming in, Ron behind her in the hall, kissing her goodbye. They hugged, and then, over her shoulder, Ron saw Harry. 

Harry carefully swung himself out of bed, making sure Ginny was still covered. He sat on the edge of her mattress. It looked like this was the moment. Alright, then. He could handle it. 

Hermione had seen him too. She and Ron were standing in the girls' room, holding hands. Ron looked at his feet. Hermione had shut the door. 

"Hi," Harry said lowly. 

"Hi," said Hermione. 

Harry glanced at Ron, who cleared his throat. 

"Hi," Ron said. 

Harry looked at Ginny, who was stirring, but still asleep. His interruption during the night must have tired her out. 

"Nothing – you know, happened," Harry said, turning back to Ron. 

There was a brief, strangled sort of pause. 

"Er – Harry," he said, shaking his head. 

"What?"

He didn't continue. Hermione nudged him, and he opened his mouth again. 

"Even if something had – happened. Well – that's OK, you know."  
Harry blinked at him. Now this he hadn't expected. 

"OK?" he repeated after a while, very confused. 

"I was talking to 'Mione," Ron explained, in a quiet rush, "and I needed some time to get used to the whole idea but – you're right. It's really none of my business."

He looked sideways at Hermione. 

"Just – sorry Harry," he finished in a mutter.

Harry got up (again, carefully) and went to stand in front of Ron.

"I don't want you to just – tolerate it," he said awkwardly. "I want you to be happy."

"Happy's a bit much," Ron snapped, and then bit his lip. "Sorry. It just – it takes getting used to, like I said."

Harry nodded. Ron nodded. They both stood nodding for some time. 

"Thanks, Ron," Harry said. 

Ron shrugged. Harry held out his hand, and, after a moment's hesitation, Ron shook it. Harry smiled wryly. 

"Well, you can be happy that we're back together again, at least."

Ron's slow, rather uneasy smile matched his own. "Yeah, I guess."

Harry looked at Hermione, and she was teary. Ron saw him looking, and faced her. 

"Hey!" he said, astonished. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." She brushed the back of her hand against her eyes. 

"You OK?" worried Ron. 

"Mm-hm."

She smiled from one of their faces to the other, and then kissed Ron soundly. He looked surprised, and then pleased. He kissed her back. 

"What was that about?" he said quietly, when she stopped.

"You boys are so hopeless sometimes," was her enigmatic reply. "I'm going to the bathroom."

Ron watched her leave, and then he and Harry stood in silence for a few moments. 

"Harry," he said suddenly. 

"Yes?"

"You do love her, don't you?"  
And at that point, Harry remembered something. 

"Yeah," he said. "I know I do. 'Cos I'd rather be cold than let her be cold." 

Ron raised his eyebrows, and his face changed a little – softened.

"OK," he said, exhaling. "OK. I think I can handle this." He paused, and then added: "Just as long as I never, ever walk in on you."

Harry almost laughed, but thankfully didn't, because Ron was deadly serious. 

"Sure, Ron," Harry said instead. 

"OK. I'm going to bed – and you can, you know, you can stay here if you want. Because I'm fine with that. Really."

"I'll be there soon," Harry said. 

Again, palpable relief played across Ron's features. He might say he was used to the idea, but Harry knew it still freaked him out. 

"OK," said Ron. "Well – see you, then."

He left. Harry barely had time to move before Hermione was back. She immediately tiptoed up to hug him. 

"Harry, if this is what you guys want, I'm so happy for you," she said in his ear. 

"Merlin, Hermione," Harry said. "That's the best thing I've heard all day."

"And it's only six in the morning," she pointed out. She drew back and looked at him.

"You realise if you screw this up," she added sternly, "I'll be one of the many who'll line up to hurt you?"

"Yeah. I know. There might not be much left of me by the time it gets to your turn, though." He paused. "Thanks for talking to Ron."

She shrugged. 

"No, really. Thanks."

"It was all there anyway, Harry," she said dismissively. "He loves you guys. He just needed a bit of prodding."

"It's more than that," he insisted. "You know what Ron's like. He'd have brooded for a months, and then we'd probably have ended up fighting it out until we were both too bruised and bloody to speak. Then he'd have been OK with it. You – you've got a hold on him."

"We have a hold on each other," she corrected him gently. 

Harry didn't often hear Hermione speak sentimentally, but he liked it when she did. 

"Just – thanks," he said. 

"You're welcome," she replied, rolling her eyes a bit. "Honestly. And I think I'll go have breakfast. You coming?"

"No. I'll wait a little while."

"Don't want to meet the family?" she said wryly. 

Harry nodded once in agreement, and Hermione left. 

He went back to Ginny, who had turned over in bed, and was now facing the wall. He wondered if she'd woken up, and touched her shoulder gently. It was then he noticed that she was shaking. 

"Ginny," he said sharply, brushing her hair out of her face. She was crying, but pressing her face against her pillow as though trying to stop. "Ginny, what is it? What's the matter?"

He sat her up – she resisted a little, but he couldn't just let her lie like that – and she eventually leant against him, her wet cheek against his neck. He rubbed her back gently. He wished he knew what was wrong. 

"What's the matter?" he asked again, and this time she answered. 

"You said you loved me," she managed, almost choking. 

"Yeah." He was bewildered. "Why are you crying?"

"Because!" 

"Because why?"

She took several deep breaths, and then gave up trying to control herself.

"I love you too, Harry," she sobbed. "I loved you my whole life."

Harry looked down at the top of head, at the soft red hair, at the pale line of her part, and felt like he'd run out of air. 

She loved him. 

She'd never said it before. 

She loved him. 

And then, as the words registered in that part of his brain that understood these things, he wrapped his arms all the way around her, and held her as tight as he could. 

It was the best feeling in the world, and the heaviest, and the most important. This feeling – like he had somebody, and they had him.

Like they had a hold on each other.

~

When Ginny and Harry went down to breakfast (Ginny composed, and slightly embarrassed about her tears, he thought), Fred was scouring dishes by hand at the sink, and George was drying. Both were wearing flowery aprons. Ron and Hermione sat at the table, watching them with a mixture of amusement and sympathy. 

"What's this?" said Harry, at the foot of the stairs. 

Fred muttered something incoherent.

"What did you say?"

"I said, bloody Mum gave us bloody punishments for bloody last night."

"You didn't get home?"

"No," said George sourly. "We stayed here. And now we're cleaning. All because dickhead –" (at this point, he kicked Fred soundly in the ankle) – "had to make a 'shagging our sister' joke at the table."

"It was an un-pass-up-able opportunity," Fred protested.  

"Well maybe this is an un-pass-up-able opportunity," Ginny interjected sweetly, coming in, "to brush up on your household spells. Think of it as a time of learning, not a time of punishment."

The twins stared at her, clearly trying to figure out whether or not she was serious, and Harry bit back a smile. He shrugged helplessly at them, and followed her all the way into the kitchen.   
They were just sitting down with Ron and Hermione, and two plates of bacon and eggs, when Mrs Weasley came bustling in. 

"Oh good," she said, seeing them. "You're up."

"Yes," Ginny said warily. "Who's here?"

"What do you mean, who's here?" 

"Any more male family members lurking around, waiting to grill poor Harry?" she said acidly. She'd definitely regained her composure, and found all the anger she'd quietly tucked away the previous night. 

Mrs Weasley wasn't having any of it. 

"I'm punishing the twins, so don't get snide with me," she said. "Your father's at work, and Bill's gone back to London."

"Want to get Charlie back from Syria? Maybe he's got something to say to us too."

Mrs Weasley threw a tea-towel at her. It slapped Ginny lightly in the face, and then fell into her lap. Fred and George immediately began to smirk, as Ginny frowned furiously at her mother. 

"What?" she demanded. 

"Punishments," Mrs Weasley said, as sweetly as Ginny had spoken to the twins. "Remember? You ran away to London without telling us, and you're helping me clean for a few days. So once you've finished eating, you can tackle the attic."

And with that, she swept out. 

"Don't think of this as a punishment, though, Gin," George said solemnly. "Think of it as a learning opportunity. A time to study the phenomenon of bad karma coming back and snapping you in the arse."

Harry couldn't help himself. He grinned, even as he rubbed the back of her neck sympathetically. Ginny, her frown fading, dug into her breakfast. 

"Don't forget, Harry," she said, through a mouthful of eggs. 

"Forget what?"

Mrs Weasley stuck her head back into the kitchen. "Don't forget, Harry," she said, sounding eerily like her daughter, "you're helping her."

She left again, and Ginny smiled a toothy, egg-y smile at him. He knocked her lightly over the head. He had forgotten.

It wasn't such a bad punishment really. Forced to spend time with Ginny, and only Ginny. How hard could it be?

And besides – he'd imagined much worse. He'd imagined leagues of Weasley men lined up along the halls, after his speech. He'd imagined being thrown out of the house. He'd imagined all kinds of horrible things, most of which would have prevented he and Ginny from seeing each other. 

Maybe, mused inner monologue, they don't hate you as much as you think.

Harry thrust the thought away. He hardly dared to consider it.


	24. Sharing News

A/N: Hehehe – you got me, Traveller. Very sorry, it was too good not to use :) Thanks reviewers, you make me smile … And, in a departure from fanfic world, my surprise party was awesome – the birthday gal didn't suspect a thing! ~room for two~ Shezzly … PS – HP Romantic, you want decent 'romantic' scenes? Try LavenderBrown. I know I'm always extolling her virtues (I should be charging) but she never descends into slash and all that, and you can trust her to come up with something good. PPS – Waywren, 'let's hear it' for the most poetic review ever composed! Lovely!

Of course, things didn't turn out exactly that well. He and Ginny mostly worked in separate parts of the house. Ginny cleaned out the attic and basement, full of dark, holey corners, and ancient pranks designed by a younger Fred and George. Harry tackled the yard. He often looked longingly back at the rickety Burrow, picturing Ginny, and nearly clipping off his own fingers in distraction. 

They worked for hours every day, but it wasn't slave labour. They'd start at nine, and wrap up at about four o'clock. There were plenty of breaks, especially in the middle of the day. Times to sit and meet up and talk and eat – Mrs Weasley made them lunch. The twins ducked in and out, trying to be surreptitious, but more often than not ending up with kitchen-duty. 

Mr Weasley had claimed (according to Ron) that it was a very busy time at the Ministry, and was rarely home for dinner. Harry only saw him once – he had to pass him in the hall. He wouldn't meet his eye, or say hello, or even nod. He just pretended like Harry wasn't there. It made him feel uncomfortable, and somehow guilty – he wished he knew how to fix what had happened with Mr Weasley, but he couldn't see a way. He decided he'd wait instead, and hope for the best.

Despite this, things weren't so bad. They were better than before – but it wasn't what he wanted. What he wanted was limitless time alone with Ginny. 

And, once again, getting alone with her was virtually impossible. 

He found it so frustrating. Even now that everything was out in the open, he felt a weird sense of borrowed time about the moments they had to themselves. A kiss in the corridor, a brief, quiet chat on Harry's squishy mattress, and before he knew it, there was Ron wanting to play quidditch, or the twins attempting to find a hiding place, or Mrs Weasley hustling him out the door to prune her hedges. He didn't know if it was intentional on their part or not (he hoped the latter, and suspected the former), but he began to long for the evening after that disastrous dinner, or his little room in London, and the hours he'd spent asleep next to her. 

There was another thing too, and he wished he could stop it, but it was utterly hopeless. They hadn't slept together since Mrs Weasley brought them home, and he wanted to so badly that he felt almost sick. Just looking at her was enough to make him breathe faster, and have to mutter calming mantras to himself. With the little time they had totally alone, he couldn't see how they were going to manage it. He'd suggest nights, but he didn't know where they would go (clearly, the gazebo was taken) – and besides, he had a feeling someone or other would be on the lookout for Ginny, and that, in the end, they probably wouldn't make it out of the house. 

On Wednesday evening (their last day of cleaning complete), the sun was very low on the horizon when he came inside the house, finished with his gardening, and pulled off Mrs Weasley's heavy gloves. He threw them on the table, sighed, and then noticed something strange – 

It was quiet. 

"Harry," Ginny said from the top of the stairs. 

He looked up, startled, and smiled when he saw her. She was wearing shorts and a T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. 

"Hi," he said. "Good day?"

She shrugged. "I was attacked by a paper-plane that someone charmed to aim for the head. It was about five years old though, so it broke down before it could do any serious damage. What about you?" 

"Hydrangeas," he said, making a face. "Where is everybody?"

"Don't know. Isn't Mum down there?"

"No."

"Fred and George?"

"They left at lunch. And Ron and 'Mione are on a picnic."

They looked at each other for a long moment, and then she bit her lip. When Harry saw that, he couldn't control himself anymore. He went sprinting upstairs, grabbed her, and before he knew it they were kissing up against a wall, frantically, Ginny's hands in his hair. He remembered doing this in her room, a long time ago – what seemed a long time ago, and felt an odd, dizzy thrill at the sensation of her arms around him. 

"Merlin," he said breathlessly, into her neck, "if I don't sleep with you soon, I think I'm going to kill myself."

She laughed, and he ducked his head, kissed her ear, her neck, her collarbone, his hands sliding beneath her shirt. Ginny took a deep breath when she felt his hands on her, and pulled back, just a little.

"Harry," she said, a bit shakily, "Mum'll be back any minute."

"My room."

"What about Ron and 'Mione?"

"Aren't they out?"

"What if they come home?"

"Ginny," he said, lifting his head to meet her eye, "if I have to keep up this 'look but don't touch', I'll explode. In more ways than one."

"Don't be dirty."

"I'm not, I'm being honest." He hesitated, straightening. Her arms were still around his neck. "Don't you want to?"

"Of course I do," she said, flushing quickly. 

"Do you think we're going to get another chance anytime soon?"

"I – no. Probably not."

He didn't say anything, but let his free hand rest upon her hip. She trailed the tips of her fingers across the back of his neck, clearly thinking, and then nodded, leaning forward to kiss him on the lips, quite gently.

"Your room, then," she said.

~ 

Afterwards, they lay on Harry's mattress, facing one another. 

"I love you," Harry said.

"You're just saying that because you got laid," she replied teasingly. 

"Shut up." He sighed contentedly. "That was good. It was good, wasn't it?"

"It was good," she agreed, turning over so that they were spooning. Harry didn't have much spoon experience, but he discovered immediately they he liked it. He slipped his arm over her waist, his palm against her stomach. Her head fit perfectly beneath his chin, and he wanted to point this out, but suddenly didn't feel like talking. 

There were a few minutes of almost-silence, the quiet marred only by their breathing. 

"Harry," she said eventually, the words almost muffled against his mattress. 

"What?"

"Is it always going to be like this?"

He paused, trying to understand what she meant, but still didn't get it.

"Like what?" 

"I don't know. Having times when we think everything's fine, and then other things just come along to ruin it."

"Things always come along when you don't want them to," he said, feeling rather grim for a moment. "That's just life."

"I don't mean that exactly. I mean – is it always going to be hurried and hiding like this, even when we've told people?"

"We're not always hiding."

"Yes," she said impatiently, "I know, but sometimes – I just feel like we are. Oh, I don't know what I'm trying to say."

He didn't know either exactly, and he wished he did. 

"Do you mean – about your family?" he asked hesitantly. 

She half-shrugged, half-nodded. "Maybe. Merlin, I just want to leave sometimes. I really want to leave and live my life."

"You've got another year," he pointed out, and then groaned inwardly. 

_Why do you say that? _hissed inner monologue. _We don't want to remember that!_

"Another year," she repeated faintly. 

He held her a little closer. "Hey," he muttered in her ear, "it's not that long. Believe me. And then you'll have all the time in the world to live your life. 

She didn't say anything, and then there was the sound of the kitchen door slamming closed, and shoes on the floorboards downstairs. 

"Who's home?" Mrs Weasley called. 

"Me," Harry shouted back.

He sat up to put on his jeans, and Ginny did the same. They were quickly changed, and then both went to the doorway of his room. 

"I'll go out first," Harry said. "Then you can duck across to your room."

"OK." She smiled at him. She seemed herself, but he _knew_ something was wrong, and he wished she'd tell him properly. 

"Thanks," he said, and kissed her. It felt inadequate. 

"Thank you." She said the words against his mouth, and then prodded him. "Go, Mum'll be wondering."

He nodded, still hesitant, wanting to stay, hating that he couldn't.

"Go," she insisted. 

He went. 

~

After dinner, all four of them went to Harry and Ron's room. Ron lay back on his bed, hands folded behind his head. Hermione sat on the end with her back against the wall, her legs across his, reading a book. Harry and Ginny were lying on his mattress again. Harry felt mildly weird about the fact that he and Gin had been having sex in exactly this spot a few hours ago, but tried to ignore the feeling. 

He tugged on Ginny's ear. She shouldered him away, grinning. He tugged again. He liked her ears. 

"Harry, leave off," she ordered in a not-very-convincing mutter. 

Ron shifted a little to look at them, and Harry stopped pulling her ear. 

"So what are you doing next year, Harry?" Ron said, quite unexpectedly. 

Hermione immediately dropped her book and shuffled forward, her eyes bright. Ron winced as she shifted more weight onto his shins, but bore it like a true man – grimacing silently. 

"Ooh!" she said eagerly. "I can't believe I forgot to ask! I'm so stupid! Ron, why didn't you remind me to ask?"

"Don't know," he said gratingly, and then, in a departure from his usual pride, added: "Honey, you're kind of breaking my legs here."

She swung herself off him and patted his knee in apology, still looking at Harry. "We had our letters when you were in London. Me and Ron both got offered Allenhall …"

"Hermione got a ton more," Ron interjected, and she waved a dismissive hand at him. 

"Don't be silly," she said, "you got other ones too. It doesn't matter – we said if we got offered places at the same university, we'd take them. I'm going to study medi-witchery there, and Ron's doing a defensive magic course." 

She nudged him proudly, and Harry, who had been nodding along, suddenly remembered something and sat up. 

"Allenhall University?" he said. 

Hermione looked hopeful. "Yes?" she squeaked, and he broke into a huge smile. 

"_I_ got offered Allenhall!" he exclaimed, and Hermione launched herself forwards to hug him. 

"Harry!" she squealed. "This is perfect! You and me and Ron all at the same university, it'll be just like Hogwarts!"

"Merlin, Harry, I thought I was finally getting away from you," Ron said, grinning from ear to ear, and scratching his head. "Defensive magic course?"

"Yeah."

"Same university, same bloody course." Ron pointed a finger at Harry. "Face it, you want to be me, Potter."

"Shut it," he said, laughing. "Merlin. This is amazing!"

"Congratulations, Harry," said a soft voice, close to his ear. He turned slightly. Ginny was sitting up now, running a hand through her hair, smiling, but in a way that didn't look quite right. It looked strained. Not altogether real. 

"Thanks," he said, maintaining an uneasy smile. "Where are you going?"

"I'm a bit tired."

"It's only nine o'clock."

"Yeah, I know. Sorry." She bent down to kiss him goodnight, and he wanted to keep her there, but he wasn't going to force her. 

"You sure?" he said instead, taking her hand, and adding in an undertone: "You can sleep here if you want."

She shook her head, and took her hand back. "That's OK," she said. "Night. Night, guys."

Harry watched her shut the door carefully behind her.

"How are you getting up there?" Hermione said cheerfully, her usual perception clouded with excitement. "I want to take the Knight Bus …"

"No, you don't," Ron interrupted bleakly. "I'd rather fly us."

"I don't think so," she snorted. "We'd end up stranded halfway over Scotland."

"I resent that."

Harry let them prattle on. Going on after school with his friends – now that was something he'd always wanted. He could see them now, him and Ron and Hermione sitting outside on warm days, drinking Butterbeer, Hermione forcing them to learn the library code system …

He could see it so easily, it scared him. 

He wished Ginny would come back. He felt, inexplicably, like a bit of a dickhead. 


	25. Unearthing

A/N – Thanks for reviews (your opinion valued as always, Trav – you were right about the transition chapter). And I know you guys think you've got this all figured out, but just wait for the curveball I'm gonna throw you. ~Shez~

"Mate," Harry said. "Oi, Ron, are you awake?"

"Unh," grunted Ron. 

It was past eleven, but Harry couldn't sleep. Every now and again, he'd start to drift off, images of dark rooms and red eyes would build in his sleepy mind, and then he'd literally force himself into consciousness again. 

"Go – sleep," added Ron, rather incoherently. 

"Did I do something to upset Ginny tonight?" Harry said, ignoring him. 

"What?"

"Did you see me do anything, you know, stupid?"

Ron sighed heavily and rolled over. "No," he said. "But you never can tell with girls."

Harry frowned. "I really thought I was doing OK. I wasn't an arse, was I?"

"I don't bloody know, Harry, go ask Ginny."

"It's late."

"If she's upset, she'll be awake."

"No. I'll wait till morning."

Ron muttered something about him worrying like a girl, and within a minute was snoring gently. 

Harry was pretty sure this one wasn't his fault – at least, not like the slag comment had been his fault. This was something different – deeper, maybe – and (being the curious type) he felt a compelling need to know it, and (being a man) fix it, if that was at all possible. 

Almost half an hour later, there was a faint knock on his door. He paused before calling out. 

"S'open."

The door eased inward and Ginny poked her head in.

"Hi," she said. "I wasn't sure if you'd be up."  
He was immediately wide-awake. "I'm up. C'mere."

Ginny moved to sit at the foot of his mattress. He folded back the covers, and signalled for her to hop in, but she shrugged a 'no'. 

"That's OK," she said, "I don't want Ron to freak out."

Good point, inner monologue conceded, but he was still disappointed. He dropped the sheets, nodding, and looked at her. Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, and she was staring at her feet. 

"Harry," she said at last, "I know I was weird before. Sorry."

"I didn't notice."

Now she looked at him, briefly, and made a face. 

"OK," he admitted, "I did kind of notice. Doesn't matter. I thought maybe I – I don't know –"

"What?"

"Did I do something?"

"No!" she said, startled. "No, it wasn't you, Harry."   

"Oh. Well, good." He was relieved, but more confused than before. He waited for her to elaborate. She didn't. "Ginny," he said, after a while, "you can tell me, you know. If there's something wrong."

Again, she was silent. He got out of bed and moved to sit in front of her, touching a foot hesitantly. Now, she raised her face and met his eye. 

"Harry," she said firmly, "I want you to be happy, OK? I want you to do whatever makes you happy."

Right, he thought, bewildered. Good to know, but could we put that in context, please?

"I want you to be happy too," he said, and paused before continuing: "Do you mind telling me what exactly we're talking about here?"

She smiled a little. "I mean next year. You know. I think you should go to Allenhall, with Ron and 'Mione. It'll be a blast. And I know I was weird before, like I said, but I've been thinking about it and – I'm really happy for you."

She didn't sound all that happy. She sounded determined, but not happy. 

"Well," he said, after a slightly uncomfortable break, "if you apply next year, and get in, we'll all be together."

"Yeah," she agreed, but failed to drum up convincing enthusiasm. "That would be nice."

"Nice isn't the word. Perfect. It'd be perfect. Me and you and 'Mione and Ron. Can you picture it?"

"I can," she said – quite sadly, he thought. "I can see it now."

He touched the side of her face. He felt somehow like he should apologise, but as he didn't know what to apologise for (being a year older than her? going away?), he said nothing. 

"Well," Ginny said, turning her face away and standing. "I'm going back to bed. I just – wanted to tell you. And say sorry for being odd about it all. I guess … I don't know, I just felt a bit left out. It doesn't matter. G'night."

"Night."

She made as though to leave, and Harry felt his heart go faster. Things weren't right between them yet, and he had the strangest sensation of time slipping into a downwards spiral, in which the longer he left this unaddressed, the worse she would feel, and the worse it would all become. 

"Gin," he said suddenly, just wanting to stop her, not knowing what he was going to say. 

She halted and faced him, halfway to the door. "Yes?"

There was another of those silences. Harry swallowed. 

Say something. 

"I got offered a place at Hogwarts too," he blurted, surprising himself. 

"Hogwarts?" she frowned.

"Yeah. As an assistant to the DADA teacher. Maybe turn into a full-time teaching position."

She nodded slowly. "OK."

"It's to start this coming term. I'm thinking about it. I mean, I was thinking about it. Before Ron and Hermione told me about Allenhall."

Ginny hadn't moved from the spot she was standing in. She put her hands behind her back, rather awkwardly, and when he looked at her she was, for a moment, the serious little first year he remembered. 

"Do you want it?" she asked. 

Harry blinked. There she was again, Ginny the nearly-grown-up woman, who he loved, taking him aback with her questioning. 

Did he want it?

He wanted the easy comfort of staying with his friends, growing onward with them. 

He wanted to do good things – after what he'd done, he felt as though he owed it to somebody. 

He wanted to be with Ginny. 

"I don't know," he said finally, honestly. 

She came a little closer – just a few steps. 

"Why don't you know?" she asked softly. 

He thought about repeating himself – "I don't know, Ginny" – but that would be evading the issue. He didn't really want to think about it, didn't want to question himself too deeply (he was afraid of what he'd find), but at the same time, he could tell she had to know … and he had to know too, more than anyone. 

Dig deep, Potter, said inner monologue. You do and you don't want to go back to Hogwarts. Why?

"I think – I'm scared to go back," he admitted, in a low mumble. 

She was at the end of his bed again now, kneeling down. 

"What are you scared of?"

"I don't know. It's – remember, it's where Voldemort was? When we fought, at the end. It was right there at Hogwarts. Where I killed him. And – I'm scared –"

He felt, all of sudden, as though he might cry. He didn't want to, and suppressed the urge fiercely. He felt Ginny's hands sneaking into his own. 

"What?" she insisted quietly. 

"I'm scared – that when I go back there – I'll only see Voldemort. That I'll only remember him, and nothing else. I'm – it'll be different. I'm scared it'll be different now, and when I go there again, I won't see the good things, only – all the bad things – the dead people – I just –"

Don't cry, he told himself sternly, don't cry. 

He took a few deep breaths. She rubbed his hands gently, warmly. 

"Sorry," he said, on a heavy exhale. 

"Don't say sorry," she told him firmly. "You don't have to."

"I want to go back," he said, controlling the threatening tears rigidly. "I think I want to. It's just – hard – because I don't know what to expect anymore."

"I know." Ginny leant inwards and planted a kiss on his forehead. "But Harry," she murmured against his skin, so quietly he almost didn't hear, "I always thought that's the beauty of the rest of your life. You don't know what's going to happen next."

They sat like that for a little while, not moving, and Harry put his arms around her waist. He loved her. It was such a simple, and such a complicated thing, and he didn't know what to do. Strangely, he had a feeling that she was just as confused as him, just as desperate to do the right thing. 

"Harry," she said after several long moments, "do what you want, and not what you think I want. OK? Because I'd never forgive myself if – you know, if it didn't work out, and it was my fault."

"It wouldn't be your fault."

"Please Harry. Please think about it properly," she insisted, hands on either side of his face, staring him down. "Please."  
He'd never heard her beg like that. It was weird, it didn't sound right coming out of her mouth. 

"OK," he agreed finally.

She dropped her hands, looking relieved.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll go, you sleep."

"Gin …"

"Night, Harry."

 She was gone before he'd taken another breath. 

Harry lay back and thought about what had happened. He hadn't even acknowledged in his own mind most of the things he'd said, and was still a little shell-shocked. Nothing seemed clear-cut anymore – he wanted this, wanted that, and the wants were in conflict so that he knew he wouldn't end up with everything he'd hoped for. 

He shifted uncomfortably, his mind awake now, and tried to come to a sort of conclusion. After some time, he realised he couldn't, not yet. He had to talk to someone – someone separate to all of this. Not Ron, or Hermione. Not Ginny, who was afraid to push him one way or the other. 

Someone totally impartial. 

~

"Our advice?" Fred said suspiciously. 

"About university?" added George, rather bewildered. 

Harry nodded. He hadn't been able to sleep and, on the off chance (read 'very likely chance') that Fred and George would still be up, he'd slipped down to the living room and Floo-ed himself to their apartment. 

They were, needless to say, surprised to see him, and even more so when he said he wanted to talk about university. He'd been ushered over to the kitchen table, and they were now sitting around it, each with a bottle of Butterbeer. 

"Er, Harry," Fred said, "I hate to point this out, but we haven't even been to university."

"And we don't intend to be going any time soon."

"Or ever, in fact," concluded Fred. 

"I know," Harry acknowledged, rather impatiently. It was true. He knew the twins weren't his best option, but he couldn't think of anybody else. Mrs Weasley certainly wouldn't be unbiased, Mr Weasley wasn't talking to him, and everyone else was at least partway involved. 

"Are you sure you don't need advice about girls or something?" George suggested, brightening. 

"No. University. Sorry."

George shrugged in a 'what can you do?' sort of gesture. 

"Well, shoot," Fred said expansively, leaning back in his chair. 

"OK." Harry cleared his throat, trying to compose his thoughts.

"Very professional," George muttered admiringly. "Like a professor."

Harry ignored him, and found words. "The thing is, me and Ron and 'Mione all got offered a place at Allenhall University. And before that I'd been thinking about taking up a position at Hogwarts –"

"What as?" Fred interrupted. 

"Assistant to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

Fred nodded sagely. "Continue."

"So – so I was thinking about that, but then when Ron and 'Mione told me about them going to Allenhall, I figured that's where I should go too, right? And then I was talking to Ginny, and she seemed kind of upset, and she ended up saying she thought I should go to Allenhall if it was going to make me happy, but I could tell she wasn't happy herself. And it all came around to how I do and don't want to go back to Hogwarts – because of what happened – and then – well, then I was confused."

"And then you came to us," finished George. 

"That may be where he's gone wrong," Fred admitted. "We're not very good at things like this."

"I know," Harry said again. "I just needed someone to talk to, and you seemed like the only ones who weren't angry with me, or directly involved."

"Gee, thanks," Fred said wryly. "Good to know we're loved for ourselves."

"You know what I mean."

"Yeah, we know." He looked at George, who shrugged. 

"Well, you can't go to Hogwarts just to please Ginny," George pointed out. 

"I wouldn't," Harry said hastily. "She told me not to, anyway."

Fred grinned. "Whipped, whipped." 

Harry flushed. "Please," he said, "could I get some focus, here?"

"I'm focussed!" George said indignantly. "But it is after bloody midnight."

"Sorry," Harry sighed. "I figured you'd be up."

"You figured right," George confessed. "But we cordially accept your apology. Well, if you wouldn't go to Hogwarts just to please Ginny, then why would you go to Allenhall?"

"Ooh," Fred said, impressed. "That was quite philosophical-sounding."

"I'd go to be with Ron and 'Mione," Harry said. 

"That all?"

He hesitated, and then nodded. "Yeah. I think so."

George was on a roll. "And why would you go to Hogwarts?"

"I – don't know."

"Think, man!" Fred insisted, getting into it himself. "D'you remember the DA?"

"Yeah."

"You were a bloody good teacher then," George said. "And you know it."

"I was alright, I guess," Harry said warily. "You learnt the jinxes and stuff."

"Harry, even George and I learnt them. Even Neville did. Madness, I would have thought, but it happened."

"I liked teaching you guys," Harry admitted, slowly. "I really liked it."

There was a brief silence. 

"You want the teaching job, don't you?" George said, nudging him. 

Yes, whispered inner monologue. 

"I don't know," he said aloud. 

"'Course you do," Fred said gruffly. "You just want things to keep going like they were, with you and Ron and 'Mione. You want your life to keep being the same. And that's the thing, Harry – it can't. It won't. I mean, George and I felt like that too, when we left."

"Worst day of our lives almost, leaving old Hoggy," George said wistfully. 

"And the best," Fred added. "Sometimes you have to give things up to keep on going."

"I don't want to stop being friends with them!" Harry said indignantly. The thought horrified him. He could barely comprehend it. 

"No, no," George said hastily. "You don't have to stop being friends."

"Look at us and Lee. And Angelina and Katie."

"Fred, stop trying to be helpful. I'm trying to get a spiel together."

"Sorry." 

"Harry," George went on patiently, "it's not about that. What you've got are two choices, right?"

"Right. Allenhall or Hogwarts."

"No. A life where you go on being the Famous bloody Trio, or a life where you do what you really want to. Need to. Whatever."

Harry thought about this. He was pretty sure George wasn't even being sarcastic. His words, suddenly, seemed remarkably apt. 

"George," Fred breathed, suitably awe-struck. "When did you get so deep?"

"Three days ago," he said promptly. "I ate a particularly good ice-cream sundae, and had an epiphany."  
"A what-any?"

George rolled his eyes.

Harry was about to speak again, thank them, when there was a whoosh from the living room fireplace. 

Crap, was Harry's first thought. They've found me out of bed, and they're not happy. 

"What did you do this time?" asked Fred exasperatedly. "Another sister?"

They didn't even have time to make their way out of the kitchen before Mrs Weasley was staggering in, wearing her nightdress, a light dusting of ash on her shoulders and a desperate look on her face. 

"Fred and George," she said immediately, "you have to come home."

"Mrs Weasley?" Harry asked, startled. 

She looked over at him and put a hand on her heart. "Oh Harry," she said, and he saw she had been crying. 

Ginny, he thought. 

"What's happened to her?" he said grimly, dreading it, not wanting to hear.  
She shook her head. "We've all been looking for you," she said, her voice hoarse. "We couldn't find you anywhere."

"What's happened?" he repeated, while at the same time his heart thumped out a hard, uneasy rhythm.

She looked at him, and then her eyes filled with tears and she covered her face with her hands. The twins leapt up, one standing on either side of her, their concerned expressions strangely (and in any other situation, comically) identical. 

"Dumbledore's dead, Harry," Mrs Weasley said, through sobs. "He died just a few hours ago."


	26. Grieving

*A/N – Hope you can forgive me. Now, be warned – angst ahead. (Italics problem still being a problem. You know where they go).

~

"No he's not," Harry said blankly. 

"Yes he is, Harry."

"I don't believe you."

Mrs Weasley dropped her hands and looked at him with such heavy pity that he felt like he'd been physically struck. 

"It's true," she said. "Arthur was just at St Mungo's. He saw his body. The doctors say there wasn't much pain. Dumbledore's gone –"

"No he fucking isn't," Harry cut in, forgetting he was talking to Mrs Weasley, filled with a sudden, terrible anger. "He's not. You're wrong. He can't be."

"Harry, mate," Fred said, stepping away from his mother. He looked for a moment as though he might be about to embrace him, but when he saw Harry's face, he stopped immediately. 

"Harry," he said again, warily. 

Harry barely heard him. 

Dumbledore wasn't dead. He couldn't be. He was Dumbledore, for Merlin's sake. He could be hurt, he could be in a coma even, but dead – dead – 

"Dead," he said quietly. 

Mrs Weasley nodded, descending into sobs again. George sat her down at the kitchen table, making soothing, meaningless noises. Harry could see them, but he felt strangely light-headed. His parents. Sirius. Lupin. Tonks. Percy. 

Voldemort.

There was a bright, blinding pain in his scar, and he put a hand to it slowly, wanting to say something, wanting Mrs Weasley to go away so he could pretend he hadn't heard what she'd said. 

His scar jolted again. Blackness swept in from the edges of his vision; then he saw nothing; then he knew nothing.

~

"Harry."

Who was that?

"Harry."

He opened his eyes. Ginny was leaning over him, touching his arm. He smiled at her, and she smiled wanly back. Her hair was in a ponytail, and small wisps of it curled out around her ears. 

"Hey," he said, and was surprised when his voice was croaky. 

"Hey," she replied. Her fingers pressed against the skin of his forearm anxiously. "Are you OK?"

"I'm fine. What happened?"

"You passed out. You were – twitching, Mum said. Like you had a fit."

"A fit?" he repeated blankly, and then was struck with a horrible, clear memory. His face dropped – he felt it drop. Ginny gripped his arm harder. He wanted to ask her, to make sure, but he couldn't get his mouth to work. 

"Harry," she said, her red eyes glistening, "do you remember?"

He nodded mutely. 

"Merlin," she breathed, and then took his hand, brought it to her mouth, and kissed it. "I'm so sorry, Harry. I'm so sorry."

There was a long silence. She cried. 

"That's OK," he said finally. "It's not your fault."

"I know," she choked, "but I'm still sorry."

Another long silence. He didn't know what he thought. He felt empty, and hard. 

"Could you open the curtains, please," he said. 

"Sure." She leapt up and pulled the curtains, to reveal a cheery, morning-lit yard. Harry saw he was in Ron's room, in Ron's bed. His usual mattress was gone.  

"What time is it?" he asked. 

"It's about seven o'clock."

"I've been that long?"

She nodded, still looking out the window. "It was – kind of scary. We didn't know what was wrong."

"My scar," Harry muttered, rubbing it. It still throbbed a little, even now. "It hurt."

He knew why, too. It hadn't been a surge of hate from Voldemort this time. It had been hate from Harry's own heart. He'd knocked himself out with it. 

Ginny was watching him.  

"Have you seen him?" Harry asked impulsively.

"Who?"

"Dumbledore."

She bit her lip. "Harry, Dumbledore's dead."

"I know that," he said loudly, impatiently. "I mean have you seen his body?"

She looked flustered. "Oh. No. I haven't – seen it. The funeral's tomorrow. He didn't want a state one apparently, so there's going to be a ceremony at his house."

Harry turned his head on the pillow. "I'm not going," he said dully.

"What?"

"I'm not going."

She came back and sat beside him on the bed. She touched his hair tentatively. He let her, but he almost wished she'd leave. 

"Harry," she said quietly, "you know you'll regret it if you don't come."

"I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Don't know."

"Please, Harry." She tugged gently on his ear, and it was a painful reminder of a different time – just yesterday – when he hadn't known the things he knew now. "I don't want to be by myself," she finished eventually. 

"You won't be. Everyone will be there."

"I don't want everybody, I want you. It's what Dumbledore would have wanted too."

"Well we don't know what he would have wanted, do we, because he isn't around to tell us," Harry snapped. 

Ginny stood immediately. He could see her trying to understand, trying not to mind, but he'd hurt her and he felt like a bastard. It was one of a number of bad feelings he was having, in fact, but he was too worn out to do anything to fix what he'd said. 

"You should sleep," she said softly. "I'll talk to you later."

She left. Perversely, he wished she'd come back again. Not to talk – just to lie there with him. Breathe the same air for a while. 

He sank into a fitful doze (potion-induced?) that lasted all day, aware occasionally of people in his room. Ron, Hermione – Ginny again, but only briefly – Mrs Weasley – and once, he thought, Professor McGonagall in her official school robes. 

He didn't hear what they said. He didn't want to. 

~

Early the next morning – after abandoning an endless, sleepless night – he found a note tucked under his door. 

Dumbledore's house is on Merchant Street, outside London. It's the one with the blue door. The thing starts at eleven, and we've gone to help set up. Please come. Love Ginny XXOO

After a moment's hesitation, he put the message in his pocket. He wasn't going – but he couldn't bear to screw up something she'd given him. 

But if he wasn't going – what would he do today?

His gaze slid across the room. Books. Quidditch annuals. Too hard. In the corner, his Ascendant gleamed proudly. He'd serviced it a couple of days ago, and when he looked at it, felt a sudden itching in his fingertips.

Almost before he knew it, he was sailing out the window and up, soaring at break-neck speed away from The Burrow. He sighed. This was better. He didn't need to think on his broom. He could just move on, comfortably, easily. 

He flew for a long time before he saw a place by the usual stream, and felt the urge to descend. He did so quickly, stepped off his broom, and then lay down beside it in the grass. There was nobody around. He couldn't even hear any birds. There was just him and the water and a warm, breathy wind. 

Slowly, relaxing into the quiet, he allowed himself to consider what had happened. 

Dumbledore was dead. 

He took a slow, deep breath. 

Alright, he told himself. He's dead. He was sick for a long time, and now he's dead. We all knew it could happen. 

You just didn't think it would, murmured inner monologue.

He could suppress his thoughts no longer, and they all came rushing forward.  

He thought about a Dumbledore-less Hogwarts. The idea did not really make sense in his mind, because the way he saw it, the two were inseparable. They were intricately bound concepts that did not really exist alone

He thought about not being able to say hello to Dumbledore anymore. 

He thought about the students starting a school year without his speech.

He thought about all the things he hadn't told him when he should have. 

In fact, Harry went through the same, torturing list that he had with every one of the deaths of those closest to him – the agony of the 'what if's and the 'never again's. He waded along in a current of anger and sadness and guilt, and soon found himself covering his face with his hands, unable to look at the world that Dumbledore could no longer see. 

And, behind the half-darkness of his closed eyes, there rose a picture. 

Harry was eleven. He'd met Voldemort for the first time. He was lying in a hospital bed, and Dumbledore had come to visit. It was strange had clearly he could see his lively, wrinkled face. In Harry's memory, he spoke. 

"To have been loved so deeply, even though the person who loved us is gone, will give us some protection forever. It is in your very skin."

Harry took his hands away from his face, and was abruptly bombarded with remembering – Dumbledore rising at dinner; his face as he fought Voldemort; a half-forgotten wink at the Yule Ball; a tired, old smile. It was astounding. It was humbling. 

Dumbledore was right, he thought suddenly, his anger fading rapidly into a certain kind of wonder. It's in my skin. Everything he gave me – everything they all gave me – I've still got.   

He could almost see Dumbledore nodding approvingly at the next thought that came to him:

If I remember that – then Voldemort could never win.   

Harry sat up so fast that his head hurt. He needed to see Dumbledore. He needed to say goodbye to him. And he bloody hoped it all wasn't over yet. 

Fumbling for his broom, he threw himself over it and kicked into the sky, nearly falling as he yanked Gin's note out of his pocket. 

~ 

Harry had never been to Dumbledore's house before, and he'd expected something grander. This was a street full of quiet, old places – and the house was a quiet, old house. It reminded him a little of The Burrow, if less here-and-there. It was an over-sized cottage more than anything – and, as Ginny had pointed out, its most distinguishing feature was a bright blue door, bearing a knocker shaped like a star. 

He was about to head up the front path, but then heard a low murmuring of voices from nearby. He swung his gaze to the left. There was a garden gate, half hidden by climbing ivy, and he was fairly sure there were people beyond it, in the yard.  

Harry pulled his wand out as he approached the gate, and muttered an Alohomora. It worked, and the latch clicked soundly. He leant his Ascendant up against the garden wall, and then paused. 

Did he want to do this?

Yes, insisted inner monologue. You need to, even if you're scared.

He was scared. 

He pushed the gate open and walked in. 

The yard was larger than he'd expected, and there were perhaps forty people gathered in it. Most of them were standing in small, hushed clumps, and others were scattered about, alone. All were wearing dark robes. Many were tearful. 

Several had turned to look at him – he was only wearing jeans and T-shirt – but Harry barely saw them. Beyond the crowd was a low platform, upon which rested a sleek, mahogany coffin. It was surrounded by flowers. 

Dumbledore's in there, he thought, and shuddered. As though of their own accord, his feet moved, and then he was pressing forwards, shouldering past people, muttering apologies. Some looked annoyed. Others, who recognised him, were uncertain. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ron and Hermione. Neither had seen him yet – they were wrapped up in a tight hug. He couldn't see Ginny.

Didn't matter. He was nearly there now. He was steps away. The coffin was open, he could tell from where he stood, and he had to look, but now that he was here, he was more afraid than before. 

Go, hissed inner monologue, and, in agony, he went. He moved right to the side of the coffin and lowered his eyes. 

Dumbledore looked asleep. It was the weirdest thing. He just looked – asleep. 

And that was more affecting than anything he could have imagined. It hit him like a blow to the chest. Because he wasn't asleep. Sleep meant you rested, and woke up. This – there would be no waking up from this. 

While he was staring at the pale face, a hand slid onto his shoulder. He started and turned. Ginny was behind him. She was wearing second-hand dress-robes, and smiling just a little. 

"Hello," she said. "You came."

He nodded wordlessly, and then, to his shame, to his relief, began to cry, terrible deep sobs that made him feel sick. He hung his head – he didn't want her to see him – but he couldn't stop. 

Then her arms were around him, holding him upright, and she was muttering in his ear. 

"Just cry," she said fiercely. "It doesn't matter. Just cry, OK?"

He stood as he was for a moment, and then, her force irresistible, put his own arms around her. He cried for Dumbledore, for the way he'd been and the things he wouldn't see anymore – for Sirius and the parents he didn't know. For lost youth, for time passing, for the teachers he wished he had back.

He held her tighter. She was shaking, and he touched the side of her face with the back of his hand. 

Ginny was crying with him. 


	27. Recovering and Revealing

Sometime later, Harry realised that he wasn't crying anymore. He was still holding Ginny, and he bent slightly to speak close to her ear. 

"You OK?"

She nodded against his chest. 

"Sure?"

"Yes. You?"

"I think so."

"I'm glad you came."

"Me too. I'm sorry I was a dickhead."

She looked up at him. "You weren't," she said earnestly. "It doesn't matter, OK?"

"OK," he said softly. "And I'm sorry anyway."

Ginny pulled away from him a little, and reached up to wipe his cheeks with her thumbs. He found himself doing the same to her, quite naturally. She smiled at him, and then glanced over his shoulder at the coffin. 

"He looks peaceful, doesn't he?" she commented wistfully. 

"I have to talk to you," Harry said in reply, but before he could continue, there was a cough from somewhere to his right. He turned slightly and felt his eyebrows go up when he saw Bill Weasley standing there, in a tailored suit, hair pulled back into a naturally waved pony-tail. He had his hands in his pockets. 

"Hi, Harry. Ginny," he said. 

Ginny stepped away from Harry, but kept one arm around his waist.  

"Hello," she said, rather coolly. 

They stood there for a few moments, Bill looking at his feet, Ginny with her arm round Harry, Harry feeling awkward and solemn and unsure of the etiquette in this situation.

Finally, Bill pulled a hand out of his pocket and brandished it at Harry. 

"Sorry," he said. "You love my sister. And it's none of my business. I just – I wasn't sure how to say it – and I know this isn't really the time –"

Harry took Bill's hand and shook it firmly. 

"That's alright," he said. "Thanks."

Bill nodded, and they released one another's hands. Ginny smiled sidelong at Harry.

"Boys," she said in an undertone. "It's all so easy for you."

Harry was about to reply, when Bill, who'd been looking about the yard, spoke. 

"It seems such a small thing, for such a big man," he said sadly. 

"It's what he wanted," Ginny pointed out.

"I know. But apparently there're services going on all over the country. Thousands on the moors in Yorkshire. Candles floating in the lake at Hogwarts."

"People loved him," Harry said quietly. 

"Yeah. They did."

There was a long silence, and then Bill shrugged.

"I'm going to help Mum," he said. "She's meeting and greeting. I'll see you later."

"Bye."

He wandered off. Ginny nudged him with a shoulder. 

"He apologised," she said. "That's a first."

"I know. That's good, isn't it?"

"It's good, Harry."

He rubbed her back. He still wanted to speak to her alone. "Can we go inside?" he asked, after a little while.

"OK."

They made for the door, across the grass. Harry was pretty sure a few people were staring at them, but most avoided eye-contact, clearly trying to give them some privacy, or at least not wanting to look like nosy parkers. He spotted McGonagall in deep blue robes, Hermione and Ron (still oblivious to anything but each other), and Mrs Weasley and Bill circulating amongst the mourners. Most of the other faces were a blur. 

They walked in the back door and straight into the dining area, which opened onto a small kitchen. Fred and George were sitting at the dining room table, side by side.

"Remember when he told Filch he'd confiscate our dungbombs," Fred was saying, "and then gave them back to us?"

"Yeah. Remember when he saw us going to the Room of Requirement one time …"

"Third year," Fred interjected.  

"Right, third year. And we were going there, and he saw us, but he just winked and asked if we knew where the lavatories were?"

"And remember at the Yule Ball, when he caught you snogging Angelina, and he told you to keep it down 'cos Snape was on his way?"

"Yeah. And d'you remember when –"

"Yeah," George agreed, not waiting for the rest of the story. Both sat in a subdued, warm sort of silence, clearly reminiscing inwardly. 

Harry and Ginny hovered in the doorway, uncertain as to whether or not they should intrude, but George must have heard them, because he turned around. 

"Hello," he said. "Don't mind us. Just remembering –"

"Fondly remembering."

"That's right. Fondly remembering."

Harry noticed then that they both had bottles of Butterbeer in front of them. Solemnly, George raised his, and Fred followed suit. 

"To the original larrikin," George announced. "May he remain an ally to rule-breakers everywhere."

"Amen to that," Fred said fervently, and they clinked bottles. "Oi," Fred went on, jerking his head at Harry. "You want one?"

"No thanks," he said. He knew what happened when he drank with the twins. They shrugged amiably and, almost in unison, took long swigs from their Butterbeers. 

"Did you want to go upstairs, Harry?" Ginny asked quietly. 

"Are we allowed?"

"I think it's alright. And it's not like we're going to be able to talk down here."

Harry thought about it. He didn't feel exactly comfortable invading Dumbledore's house, but then again, he didn't suppose the old professor would have minded. 

"OK," he said, and they made their way through the kitchen, even as Fred and George raised their beers for another enthusiastic toast. 

"To Dumbledore!" Fred cried, standing in passionate address. "The coolest old guy I ever knew!"

"Here, here!" George agreed, standing too. 

Again, clinking and long swigs. Harry was pretty sure they'd be drunk by the end of the day – maybe the hour – and he hoped they could get home before Mrs Weasley saw them. 

Ginny led him on through the house, and then upstairs. She peered into a few rooms along the second-floor corridor – all the doors were open – and then found one that looked like a spare bedroom.

"Here?" she said, hesitating in the doorway. 

"Here's good."

They went in and she locked the door behind them, before sitting on the edge of the immaculately-made bed. She patted the spot beside her, and after a moment, he moved to it. 

"What do you want to tell me?" she asked. 

He didn't know how to put it, because the words had hardly formed in his own mind yet. 

"Well," he said slowly, "I went to Fred and George's yesterday morning."

"Mum said that's where she found you. I meant to ask what you were doing there." She paused. "What were you doing there?"

"I was asking them for some advice. After you and I talked."

She frowned a little. "Advice?"

"Yeah."

"Fred and George?"

"Yeah."

She looked suspicious. "And what was this advice they gave you?"

Harry touched her knee. "Hey, they seemed like the only ones I could go to. And actually – they kind of sounded –"

"What?"

"I just think they're deeper than we give them credit for."

She smiled a little. "OK," she acknowledged. "The twins are deep. So what did you talk about then?"

Why was his throat dry?  
Because you want her to approve, spoke up inner monologue. You want her to think you've done the right thing. 

"Er – we talked about university."

Her features clouded, just a little. She was obviously struggling to maintain an unconcerned expression. "Oh, right," she said. 

Harry moved slightly, wanting to face her, but the bed made it awkward. She was looking down at her lap anyway. He brushed a bit of loose hair behind her ear, and she smiled a small smile, but still wouldn't look at him. 

"I'm taking the Hogwarts job," he said suddenly.

Immediately, she raised her eyes. They were shocked and anxious. 

"Harry," she said wildly, "no!"  
"No?"

"You can't."

His chest felt, quite abruptly, as though it was hollow. She didn't want him there. She didn't want him to come.

"I won't let you do this, not just for me," she went on urgently.

"Alright," he said bleakly, and then the words registered. "Wait, what do you mean, for you?"

"I – what do you mean, what do I mean? You can't give up on everything you want just to come to Hogwarts and keep me company. I didn't – I don't want to guilt you into things, Harry. Merlin, I should never have come and spoken to you about it."

She stood up, clearly angry with herself, her cheeks flushing red. 

"Ginny," he said, but she plunged on. 

"You can't do it. You should go to Allenhall. You want to go to Allenhall. I won't let you come to Hogwarts to please me –"

"Ginny," he repeated loudly, standing to take hold of her wrists. She stopped talking, and she stopped shifting from side to side. "Ginny, will you listen to me?"

"Please, Harry –"

"I don't want to go to Allenhall," he said firmly.

She blinked at him. "You don't?"

"No. I don't. I don't want to go there."

The more he said it, the more convinced he was that it was true. He wanted to be with Ron and Hermione, but he didn't want to go to Allenhall, not really. 

"Why not?" she asked softly. 

"I only wanted to go because of Ron and Hermione," he explained haltingly, uncertain exactly how to describe how he felt. "But – I think what I really want is to teach. That's what I wanted all along, maybe. And – if I have to leave Ron and 'Mione to do it, then – I guess I have to." 

She didn't move, didn't say anything, just fixed him with a penetrating stare. He met her eye, trying to show her he meant it – he had the feeling she still didn't quite believe him.

"What about Voldemort?" she asked, after this brief silence. 

Harry dropped his eyes, and then raised them again. 

"I don't care about him," he said, rather fiercely. "I'm not going to let him take Hogwarts away from me, along with everything else. I can't. Dumbledore would have hated that."

"Yeah," she agreed quietly, pulling her wrists away from his hands and putting her arms around his neck. "He would have."

Harry hugged her. He was glad she knew now. She smelt good – familiar. 

"Harry," she muttered into his neck. 

"Yeah?"

"You sure about this?"

"Absolutely."

She sighed and he felt her breath on his skin. 

"I didn't want to say anything before," she said, "but I'm really glad you're coming back with me."

~  
Mr Weasley was standing at the bottom of the stairs when they came down. He turned when he heard them. Ginny squeezed his hand a couple of times, and then smiled at her father. 

"Hi, Dad," she said. 

He nodded shortly, and swiped at his eyes with the back of one hand. They were red; he'd been crying. Harry felt so uncomfortable that he almost ran back upstairs – if Ginny hadn't had a decent hold on him, he might even have Disapparated.

They came to the end of the stairs and the first floor, and stood awkwardly for a few moments before Ginny embraced him. Mr Weasley, after a surprised jump, put his arms around his daughter, and held her tightly. 

"It's OK, Dad," she said, and pecked him on the cheek. Then she stepped back to Harry and he slipped an arm around her waist. 

Yes, an arm around her waist, in front of her father. He surprised himself with his own daring, but the harder, tougher part of him wanted to show Mr Weasley that he a) wasn't going to back down about Ginny b) loved her like crazy and c) wasn't afraid of him. 

He was afraid, a bit. But someone had once told him – Sirius, actually – that a brave front can be almost as good as bravery for real. 

Mr Weasley looked from Ginny to Harry. Harry swallowed, and he thought he could hear Ginny exhale heavily as her father opened his mouth. 

"Harry –" he said, and stopped. 

"Yes, Mr Weasley?"

A long pause. Then, he coughed, and frowned.  

"Best help your mother with lunch, Gin," he said gruffly.

He went back into the kitchen, and Ginny squeezed Harry's hand again. 

"Oh well," she murmured. "Better luck next round."

She makes it sound like a boxing match, he thought, and then jumped as Fred and George staggered into the hall from another room (not the dining or kitchen), with shot-glasses of firewhiskey this time.

"To Dumbly-dore," Fred slurred. "For being a top-notch bloke."

They tipped back their drinks, holding one another upright. 

"Is that all this is to you?" Ginny snapped. "An excuse to get drunk?"

"Shut up, Ginny," George said, airily tipsy. "I've had enough of people crying and I bet Dumbledore – wherever he is – has too. I've had enough of crying myself."

"He did cry," Fred added. "Like a baby."

George hit him on the head with his empty glass. "We're drowning our sorrows," he went on, "and then we're going home to sleep. That's what –" He stopped, unable to get his tongue around the word.

"Dumbly-door," Fred said helpfully.

"Thank you. He would have liked things to be like this."

He nodded his head a few times to seal the point, and seemed about to continue when Harry interrupted. 

"That time in London – didn't you tell me you shouldn't drown your sorrows? That you only end up feeling like your head's been bitten off in the morning."

The twins stared at him.

"Harry," Fred said eventually, in disbelief. "Since when can you take a word we say seriously?"

Harry wanted to point out that they'd been moderately serious yesterday (and even kind of mature), but decided not to shatter the illusion they had going. Fred and George, happy-go-lucky ruffians, who talked a lot of rubbish and could sell your mother a broken broomstick – that's the image they broadcasted, and clearly they kept the other stuff hidden for reasons of their own.

"OK," Harry said instead. "Why don't you go home?"

"Why don't we Fred?" George enquired pleasantly. 

"Let's."

They went upstairs – to find a fireplace, Harry thought. He looked at Ginny, and she was looking at him. 

"Why were you drowning your sorrows in London?" she said, quite challengingly, one hand resting on her hip. She looked like her mother. 

"I was in love with you," he admitted, "and I didn't think you were in love with me."

She eyed him, and then put her arm about his waist again, laughing softly. 

"Harry," she said, "as if I couldn't be in love with you." 

They went out into the garden, and Harry, somehow, on the day of Dumbledore's funeral, had a smile on his face. 

_The twins are right, _he thought_. _Dumbledore _would_ have liked this.  

~

There you go – with Fred and George, even (happy Trav? Hehe, I am)… thank you for your reviews, they're the jelly in my beans. Oh, and happy birthday John, the boy is 26 today :-) ~nm3x5s~ Shez


	28. Going On

*A/N … Last chapter (sorry I didn't warn you earlier!! I couldn't bear to) – because I won't be extending this fic into Gin's 7th year. It feels ready to finish, and the way I plotted it, it was only going to run for the summer. This is a long chapter, and it's the last official one – but there will be an epilogue, so stick around. 

~

That night, Harry and Ginny lay in Harry's (well, Ron's) bed. Harry's old mattress had been moved into the girls' room, and Ron had taken up residence there. Subsequently, Ginny left Ron and Hermione alone, and ended up (very surprisingly) in Harry's now-single-bed room. Harry was pretty sure the situation wouldn't stand for long – Mrs Weasley had an eye for untoward goings-on – but intended to make the most of this semi-privacy while it lasted.

"Are you cold?" Harry asked, a head on her shoulder. 

"No. It's summer."

"True, but you're not wearing much."

She jabbed an elbow half-heartedly into his stomach, and they lay a little longer in silence. 

"Would it be weird to say this was a good day?" she said eventually.

He shook his head. "I don't think so. I think that's what Dumbledore would have wanted us to say. But then again, we all keep saying 'this is what he would have wanted', and we can't really know, can we?"

Ginny sighed. "No. Still, I think you're right." She turned over to face him – her nose touched his nose. "I'm really glad you came today," she went on seriously.

"Me too."

"And you're OK?"

Harry thought about this. "Yeah," he said, "I think I am. I think I'm more OK this time than I was before."

"Really?"

"Yeah. Must be you."

"Oh, must be," she agreed, mildly sarcastic. "My influence only."

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm being serious."

Her rather self-mocking smile dropped away. "Right," she said, after a moment's pause, frowning just a little. 

Sometimes he wondered whether she knew – really knew – what she did to him. For him. He didn't know how to explain it, but every time she said something like that, he wished he could. 

"Gin?"

"Yes?"

He hesitated. "I love you," he said finally. 

"I love you, too."

Not good enough. Not words enough. There's got to be a word bigger than love, he thought furiously, but couldn't find one. 

"You should tell Mum and Dad about Hogwarts," Ginny suggested, after another pause.

Harry started. "Your mum, yes. Your dad – I don't think I could even tell your dad the time without him trying to pin me against a wall and jinx me."

"He's not that mad really," she said, correcting him gently. "He just doesn't know what to do. I mean, it came out so suddenly that his little girl – you know, is having sex –"

"Damn right she is," Harry interrupted, unable to suppress a grin, and she smiled herself.  

"OK, OK," she said. "I think you should tell Mum at least."  

"Sure. I will. Tomorrow morning."

"She'll be alright with it." 

He felt a certain doubt on that point, but thrust it away quickly. 

"I know. It'll be fine," he said. "And what can she do, anyway?"

"Exactly."

She sighed contentedly, and his smile came back. 

"Your breath smells nice," he commented quietly. "Why does it always smell nice? Aren't you human? Don't you get bad breath like the rest of us?"

She giggled. "No," she said archly, "I'm far too special for bad breath."

"Do I get bad breath?"

"Sometimes."

"Right."

"But that's what toothpaste is for. And even if there wasn't toothpaste, I'd love you anyway."

"Gee, thanks," he said dryly, but his heart gave a strange leap when she said that. She'd love him anyway. Even without toothpaste. He wasn't sure why that made him feel so – funny.

"I should tell Ron and 'Mione, too," he added quietly, pushing hair out of her face. She screwed up her nose as he did so, and then nodded.

"OK. You don't think they'll mind?"

"Ah – no," he said, after a moment's thought. "I actually don't think they will."

Another comfortable silence. Ginny tucked one of her bare legs around one of his. 

"Should I go?" she murmured sleepily. 

"No," he said, very quickly. "Stay here."

~

Harry found Mrs Weasley out in the yard. It was almost eight o'clock, the sky was hazier than usual in this particularly bright summer, and she was busy watching the pruning of a rosebush. She'd charmed her clippers, and they were working away at any offending shoots or branches. 

"Hello, Harry," she said, as he came up behind her. She didn't turn around.

"Hello."

"Sleep alright?"

A momentary guilt made him falter ("Actually, no, I was in bed with your daughter.") but then he found voice again. "Fine," he replied. 

"You'll have to excuse me if I don't face you," she went on conversationally. "I just need to keep an eye on these old things, or they tend to go rampant." 

"That's OK."

It wasn't OK. He really needed to sit down with her, be serious – but mostly he wanted to get it over with, so he ploughed ahead.

"I kind of wanted to talk to you," he began.

"Oh yes, dear?"

"Yes. I just – well, I just wanted to let you know that – I'll be taking the Hogwarts Express again this year."

Mrs Weasley spun about, and her now unsupervised shears promptly snipped the heads of several roses. She didn't notice. 

"What do you mean?" she asked, in a mixture of suspicion and surprise. 

Steel yourself, Potter, urged inner monologue. 

"I was offered a job at Hogwarts, as assistant to the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. They said it could turn into a full-term teaching position."

Mrs Weasley narrowed her eyes at him. Behind her, the rosebush was being decapitated, but Harry didn't think it was the time to point this out. There was a long silence. Harry shifted his feet awkwardly. 

"Is this about Ginny?" she demanded finally. 

"What? No." 

"Really?" she said, in a tone of voice that implied that she did not find his response very likely. He stumbled on, eager to convince her. 

"I want to teach. I do want to. My decision about – you know, this position has nothing to do with Ginny – I mean, Ginny was part of it – she's going back to Hogwarts too – but that's not why I'm going. Er – I just think this job is – right for me. I –" He trailed off, looking at his feet now, wishing he could disappear. Why was he suddenly so inarticulate? 

"Harry," said Mrs Weasley, and when he looked up, she was smiling a little. 

Smiling a little?

"If you're sure it's what you want," she continued, "then I think that's great. Just as long as you're going for the right reasons."

"Er – I am." Mrs Weasley being immediately understanding – how unexpected. And pleasant. 

"Well, then. I approve whole-heartedly."

"Good. Good."

She nodded, and then turned back to her rosebush. 

"Oh!" she exclaimed irritably, seeing the minor destruction that had eventuated without her regulation, and pulled out her wand to both stop the clippers, and restore the plant. Harry hovered for a moment, and was just about to leave when she said something else, quite calmly. 

"Besides – it's not like you two can get into any funny stuff with Minerva keeping an eye on the place."

Harry was briefly fixed to the spot, and then, muttering a goodbye, hastened back into the house. He wasn't sure Mrs Weasley knew just how many ways there were to get around the rules at Hogwarts – and he wanted to keep things like that, too. 

~ 

It was strange how easily the rest of the summer passed. It was like a sort of waking-dream. Warmth, and walks in the grass, and sleeping with Ginny when he could – talking to her, sitting with Ron and Hermione, listening to their gentle banter. It was possibly the sweetest time of his life. Before, there'd always been the dark shadows of Voldemort and the people he'd killed looking over his shoulder – now Voldemort was gone for good, and when he thought about those he'd lost, in his head their remembered faces were smiling.

Ron and Hermione, after initial disappointment, seemed happy enough that Harry had chosen Hogwarts over Allenhall. In fact, Harry thought Ron might even be secretly relieved. That was OK. He needed some time to just be Ron Weasley for a while, and not Ron Weasley, Harry Potter's best friend. And it wasn't like they'd lose contact, as Hermione pointed out – they'd meet up whenever possible, owl each other (with clockwork frequency, if Hermione had anything to do with it) and share every important bit of news. 

Once, he might have a felt a pang of jealousy at the idea of Ron and 'Mione spending a year without him, but now he simply – didn't. It'd be different, that's for sure, but not in a bad way. It might even be good for them. 

Fred and George spent more time at The Burrow in the weeks after Dumbledore's death, and also organised a wild party in London to commemorate the headmaster's 'years of service to prankdom', in their own words. It was held in the joke shop, magically enlarged, and the night was talked about for years afterwards. They were smug in their success – but, as always when it came to the twins, endearingly so. 

Mr Weasley almost lived in the office. He was sorting all the backed-up paperwork that had come through during the height of Voldemort's second term of terror. He worked very hard, and the family barely saw him. There was talk of a nomination for Minister of Magic. Mrs Weasley busied herself with other things, but clearly wanted her husband back.

Bill and Fleur celebrated their two-year anniversary with a dinner at their apartment. Harry was almost certain Fleur was pregnant (she kept a constant hand on her stomach), but the couple didn't say anything, and neither did anyone else.

He had his first ever letter from Draco Malfoy, enquiring after everyone's health and suggesting they meet at quarter-to-eleven for the train.     

Ginny made him lunch one day, and it was amazing – mostly because he knew she'd cooked it, and for him. He did the washing up. 

They picnicked. They flew. 

And so the weeks slid by and the days rolled on, and Harry half-longed for, half-dreaded the end of this season.

~

"Harry!"

He swore and went on scrabbling through Ron's desk drawer. He was positive he'd put a quill in here – 

"Harry!" Mrs Weasley called again, from the bottom of the stairs. "Two minutes, Harry!"

"OK!" he shouted back, just as his fingertips brushed a feather. He'd forgotten all about quills until now, and would have asked Ginny, but knew she was already packed. This and the other he'd found would do – he was sure he could get more in Hogsmeade. Hastily shoving it into the pocket of his robes (plain and black, as required by the Hogwarts' staff dress code), he gave the room a brief once-over, spotted nothing he needed, and then took hold of his trunk to lug it out into the hall. 

"Ouch," came a soft voice, and he stopped. He'd just backed straight into Ginny. 

"Sorry, Gin," he said, dropping his luggage. "You OK?"

"Fine," she said, rubbing her hip. "You got me nicely, there."

"Sorry. Sorry." He touched her hip gently. "Sorry."  
She waved a hand at him. "Don't," she said, "you're being silly. It's only a bump. D'you want some help?"

"What about your school stuff?"

"It's outside already."

"Right."  
He looked at her. She was wearing jeans and a white, collared shirt, and had her Hogwarts robes over one arm. Her hair was up, those bits he loved easing out around her ears. 

"Wow," he said lowly. 

She flushed. "What?"

"You look amazing."

"Don't be silly," she said again. "I'm only in my jeans. You, on the other hand –" She plucked a hair from his shoulder (one of hers, he thought) and dropped it onto the ground. "You look very – distinguished."

"Distinguished? So I look old."

"No. Just – grown up."  
He looked at her again and, feeling quite solemn, said: "So do you."

She bit her lip, smiling slightly, and he had that familiar tingling feeling at the base of his spine. 

"Gin –" he began, and then Mrs Weasley opened the door. 

"Alright," she said sharply, "we're no longer early, and are running the risk of becoming late. You need a hand with your luggage, Harry?"

"No, I'm fine."

He took it in one hand, and Ginny grabbed Hedwig before he could do it himself. 

"I've got it," he said, and she shrugged a 'No, don't worry about it' at him. 

He loved that he could read her gestures. 

Mrs Weasley was already downstairs again, and they followed her. A ministry car was waiting for them, Mr Weasley in the front passenger seat, a designated ministry driver at the wheel. Harry loaded his things into the boot, and then clambered in the back with Ginny and Mrs Weasley. 

"Hello," Mr Weasley said, rather stiffly. "How are we all?"

"Good," said Ginny, rubbing her eyes a little. "I'm sleepy."

"I told you to get an early night," Mrs Weasley sniffed, as the car started out. 

"I did," Ginny protested, flicking a quick, wicked glance at Harry, who poked her in the ribs. 

"Don't look at me," he muttered in her ear. 

She laughed softly, and Mrs Weasley smiled at them both. 

"Well, that's lovely," she said happily, almost to herself, and settled back in her seat. 

"The other car's gone ahead," Mr Weasley said, after a little while. "The others are probably already there."

There was not much more conversation. Mrs Weasley seemed content to enjoy the luxury of the ministry car, Mr Weasley seemed uncomfortable, and Harry and Ginny sat in silence, loosely (and unconsciously) holding hands. 

It was ten to eleven when they came running out onto Platform 9 and ¾, and the first thing Harry saw was the huge, steaming train, making the impatient noises of a vehicle on the edge of departure. He felt a jolt in his stomach when he looked at it. 

The second thing was a small knot of people amongst the thronging students. Hermione, Ron, Fred, George and Bill were waiting for them, Hermione looking decidedly anxious – probably worrying that they'd be late.

"Oi!" Harry cried impulsively, and all five of them looked up. 

"Come on!" Hermione shouted, and Harry and Ginny hurried over, the Weasley parents close behind. 

As soon as they'd put down their luggage, Hermione threw herself at Harry.

"Have a good time, Harry, don't take too many point off the Gryffindors, even though you ought to be impartial – so maybe you should take points off the Gryffindors – if you're even allowed to take points – and be nice to Malfoy, I know you will be, and say hello to all the sixth-years – I mean seventh-years, and – oh Harry, keep in touch, won't you?" She kissed his cheek quickly, and then stepped back as Harry attempted to absorb this wild rush of words. 

"OK, 'Mione," he said finally. "You too. When do you go up?"

"Three days. I'll owl you when we get there."

"Great."

Ron hugged him briefly and awkwardly. 

"Be good, mate," he said, letting go. "Don't let Snape tell you what to do, eh?"

"'Course not," Harry agreed stoutly.

They looked at one another, and then laughed. 

"I'll miss you, Harry," Ron said, his tone deceptively light. Harry knew what he meant – It won't be the same without you – and shook his hand firmly. It felt like the right thing to do. It felt – like something men should do. 

That was what they were now, wasn't it?

"Our turn," George said, shouldering past Ron, who was shifting to give Ginny a hug. He slapped Harry on the shoulder. "Well, Harry," he went on seriously, "good luck in Eighth Year, eh? It's nothing to be ashamed of. You can't help that you're a little slow."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Thanks. Thanks very much."

"You do realise you've allied yourself with the enemy, Harry," Fred commented.

"What do you mean?"

"The staff," George explained, in a rather demonic voice. "I don't know if we can forgive you."

"But we will," Fred added, "because we wouldn't want you to jinx us, Mr Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."

"No, no, Fred," George said, lowering his voice reverently. "Assistant."

"OK, OK," Harry laughed. "Thanks for this summer – you've been really good to me. I mean it. Letting me stay in your apartment and all."

"No problem." Fred waved a hand. "It's funny. Whenever we mentioned that you were crashing at our place, the girls sort of flocked to us."

"It was difficult," George said, in martyr-like tones, "but we bore it as best we could."

Harry shook his head. Clearly he wasn't going to get either of them to accept his thanks for real. 

George turned to say goodbye to Ginny, but Fred stayed where he was.

"Oh, and Harry? Do keep quiet about –" Here, he leant in, and spoke in an exaggerated whisper. "Well, I'd say 'shagging our sister', but it didn't go down so well last time."

He straightened and winked at Harry, who was being half-strangled by Mrs Weasley before he could think of a reply. 

"Harry," she said tearfully, "you'll write, won't you?"

"Of course."

She pulled him away from her and looked into his face anxiously. "And you're alright?"

"I'm fine." He swallowed, suddenly finding a hard lump in his throat. "I – thank you so much for having me."

"Any time," she said. "I mean that. You think of The Burrow as your home from now on, Harry, because that's what it is."

She hugged him again, and then the train whistled and Mrs Weasley just had time to kiss her daughter quickly on the cheek, while Bill and Harry shook hands, before the two of them were running for the train. 

"Have a nice time!" she said, as Harry ducked inside pulling Ginny and their trunks after him. 

"We will!" Ginny shouted. She blew everyone a kiss, and Mrs Weasley and the twins blew kisses back, while the rest of them waved.

Harry was just about to pull the door closed when he saw Mr Weasley approaching at a fast jog. He was momentarily struck dumb as he came right up to the edge of the platform, and stopped.

"Harry," he said quickly, "have a good year."

Harry didn't know what to say, and so didn't say anything. 

Mr Weasley, who had been avoiding eye contact, now looked at him properly. Harry blinked back. He then stepped up onto the train, and hugged Harry quickly and fiercely. The lump in his throat came back. 

"Sorry," Mr Weasley said in his ear. "I'm a proud old git. Be good to her, right?"

"Right," Harry replied, rather breathless. Mr Weasley stepped off again, and walked back to the others. 

"Well," said Ginny wonderingly. "That's one for the history books."

The train began to move.

"Quick!" she cried, and shut the door, running to an open window to wave a last goodbye. Harry watched over her shoulder as the platform disappeared. 

He felt as though he was beginning a new life. 

He was. 

When the station was out of sight, Ginny sighed and leant back against him. 

"I should find a compartment," she said. 

"OK. I guess I should – go to the staff car."

"I guess you should."

She turned around, kissed him lightly on the lips, and then picked up her trunk. 

"I'll see you soon," she said, touching his hand (it was resting on his own trunk) and then began to make her way down the corridor. 

He watched her go for almost three seconds, then abandoned his luggage to run after her. 

"Gin," he said, and she halted, spinning about. 

"What?"

He raised and dropped his hands helplessly. "I want to say something to you," he said. "And I don't really know how."

"What is it?"

He swallowed. "I love you."  
Ginny smiled a puzzled half-smile. "I know. I love you too, Harry."

"No, no," he said hastily, urgently. "No. I mean, I love you. I think I'm going to love you for the rest of my life. I know I am. I just – I –"

She put her trunk down carefully, then practically threw herself at him. "Harry," she said into his robes, "I feel the same. I just didn't know –"

"How to say it," he finished for her, and exhaled. "OK."

He kissed the top of her head, feeling an odd mixture of relief and excitement and overwhelming protectiveness. 

"You need to find your staff car," she said softly. "And we're blocking the hall."

"I know," he replied. "I'll see you when we get there."

They released one another, and she, picking her things up quickly, was gone almost before he'd taken another breath. 

He wanted to get away quickly too. He loved her too much to watch her walk away from him. 

As it turned out, he wasn't in the staff car – there was a special, new compartment reserved for assistants. When he slid the door open, he saw Malfoy sitting by the window, a book open in his lap. His arm was out of bandages, but there was a long, white scar running along its length. He looked up as Harry entered. 

"Hello," he said pleasantly. 

"Hello. Sorry I was late. Too many goodbyes."

Harry winced inwardly as soon as he'd said it, remembering that Malfoy didn't have so many people to say goodbye to him now, but Malfoy didn't appear to mind much.

"That's alright. Take a seat."

Harry put his trunk away in the overhead and then did so, directly opposite Malfoy. There was a brief, but only mildly awkward silence. 

"So," Malfoy said eventually, "what happened to you this summer?"

"Er –" Harry began, and then stopped. How to put it all into some kind of coherent form? "I guess – I fell in love with this girl," Harry said at last, feeling rather ridiculous, but unable to stop the words coming out of his mouth. 

Malfoy, to his surprise, nodded knowingly. 

"The youngest Weasley, right?"

Harry frowned at him. "How did you know?"

"Flourish and Blotts," Malfoy said, shrugging. "Anybody could have seen it."

Harry remembered all the quills spilling out, the bumping heads, the touch of her fingers against his. "It was that obvious?" 

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Are you kidding? It was written all over your faces."

"Huh," Harry said, and then paused. "What about now?"

Malfoy smiled, rather wryly. "Yeah," he said. "You've got it now too."

They descended into another silence, more companionable this time. Harry looked out the window, at the summer-warmed countryside, and found himself smiling.

He and Ginny loved each other. 

Anybody could have seen it. 

~

*Breathes a long, heavy sigh* I'm exhausted, but I felt like it should all come out in one chapter. Hang on for the epilogue. Much love and appreciation ~nm3x5s~ Shez


	29. Epilogue

"Peeves!" Harry hollered, sweeping down the second-floor corridor. "Peeves, get back here!"

"Why, Mr Potter, sir?" Peeves screeched back, ducking into an empty classroom ahead of him. "Going to jinx me?"

"Malfoy!" Harry called wildly. 

A blonde head popped out around the corner, behind him. 

"What?"

"Peeves," Harry mouthed, pointing a finger at the classroom the poltergeist had entered. 

"I'm on it," Malfoy said grimly, running a hand over his slick hair and striding forwards. He had a particular dislike for Peeves, and always enjoyed bringing him down. Harry mostly found it a nuisance, and was happy to let Malfoy take care of him. He waited in the corridor for several minutes, listening to the bangs and screams from Peeves' classroom, and then smiled slightly at the sudden, sullen silence. 

Malfoy came out, putting his wand back in his pocket. 

"Well," he said smugly. "He won't be bothering us for a while."

"What bloody curse did you use this time?"

"Impendimentia for spirits," Malfoy said promptly. "I learnt it especially."  
Harry shook his head. He couldn't really understand the notion of doing extra study, but then again, Malfoy was an ex-Slytherin. Always ambitious. It was strange – in so many ways, Malfoy had changed, but in others, he was exactly the same. Like the look on his face right now – the 'I may possibly be a genius' Malfoy arrogance. It was part of his make-up and didn't exactly offend Harry anymore, so much as provide opportunities for him to bring the prat down a peg or two. 

And he used the word 'prat' in an affectionate way. They were good friends now – impossible not to be, after a whole year thrown together – and Harry almost felt as though he was beginning to understand the guy. He still had the occasional, violent mood swing, and could be insufferably conceited, but most of the time was pleasant, and clever, and actually a lot of fun to be around. 

He wasn't exactly thinking of his relationship with Malfoy at that moment, however. His mind was otherwise occupied, and his heart felt as though it was going three times its usual speed. 

"What?" Malfoy asked as they walked on, nudging him. 

Harry started. "Nothing," he said immediately, flushing. 

"Twitchy, aren't we?" Malfoy commented. "Nervous for your girl, Potter?"

"Nah. She'll be right. S'only graduation, and believe me, she's seen worse."

"You in bed?" Malfoy suggested, and was rewarded with a hard shove from Harry. "Sorry," he said, grinning widely. "Couldn't help myself. What time is it? Shall we go to the Great Hall?"

"I guess," Harry muttered. 

There was a brief silence as they headed for the stairs, and then Malfoy, frowning, spoke again.

"You're rather uncommunicative tonight."

"Tired."

"Didn't get much sleep in?" Harry said nothing, and Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "No response now, even to lewd suggestion. What's really the matter, Potter?"

Harry sighed heavily. 

Tell him?

Good Lord, no, protested inner monologue, but for some reason, he felt the need. Maybe it would settle his nerves. Wordlessly, he stopped, put his hand in his pocket, and produced a small, gold ring, tipped with a white diamond. He held it out in the palm of his hand. 

Malfoy nearly fell over in shock. 

"No," he said incredulously. "You're not." 

 Harry nodded, rather miserably. 

"Merlin. May I?" Without waiting for a reply, he took the ring between his thumb and forefinger and held it up to the light. After several seconds of examination, he whistled appreciatively, and gave it back to Harry. "Nice, Potter. Very nice. You get that in France?"

"Yeah. Toulouse. How'd you guess?"

"Oh, I know a bit about precious stones," he said, as though everybody should know a bit about precious stones. "Well, she'll love it. It's a beautiful piece of work."

"Thanks."

They stood where they were a little longer, Harry staring at his feet, and finally Malfoy said: 

"Funny. For a man who's about to propose, you look like shit warmed up."

"That's how I feel," Harry admitted, briefly meeting Malfoy's sardonic eye. "I don't know how I'm going to do this."

"Haven't you planned something out?"

"I can't. I've tried, believe me. I just don't know how to say it."

"What about, 'please marry me'?"

"Yeah, it's real easy when you're not the one in the hot-seat," Harry said bitingly, and then sighed. "Sorry. Sorry. I'm just – I'm freaking out."

Malfoy eyed him, and then put two hands on Harry's shoulders. 

"Right, Potter," he said firmly. "You love this girl?"

"Of course."

"You want to marry her?"

"No," Harry said sarcastically, "I'd rather not, thanks."

"Come on."

"Of course I want to bloody marry her."

"Then go and bloody do it," Malfoy urged, giving him a push forwards. 

Harry knew he was right. He'd just have to grit his teeth, work up the courage, and ask. Like finding a Yule Ball partner. 

You know it's not like finding a Yule Ball partner, whispered inner monologue. You know how much this means. And you know why you're scared too – because she might just say no.

With an effort, Harry silenced the ever-articulate voice in his head. If he thought too much about the possibility of her refusal (we're 18, she's just finished school, she needs her life, what am I doing?), he'd never go through with it. 

And he knew, despite his fears, that he had to go through with it. There was no way he could go on loving her this hard, without knowing that they'd only belong to each other. No, that wasn't it. He knew they'd only belong to each other. The thing was, he wanted everyone else to know it too. 

"Go on," Malfoy said archly, gesturing at the stairs leading down to the first level and the Great Hall. "Lead the way."  
Squaring his shoulders, Harry did so. The doors were open, as always, and the ceremony had already started. He and Malfoy had been on patrol (one of their more trying duties as assistants – besides Peeves, there were constantly students out of bed, most of them just trying to find a quiet place to make out. Harry had no idea there were so many of them when he'd been at school), and McGonagall had asked that they join the festivities once the corridors were clear. The two of them slipped in the back and stood against the wall, facing the newly-erected stage. 

Only sixth- and seventh-years, staff, and seventh-years' family members were present at the graduation ceremony. The other students would arrive later to partake in the end of year feast. Onstage currently was a short, blonde girl whom Harry did not recognise. He scanned the Gryffindor table, and soon found Ginny, her hair pulled back into a long, sleek ponytail for the occasion. On either side of her were Fred and George. Mrs Weasley was nowhere to be seen. 

Ginny moved her head, just slightly, and his breath caught in his throat. Merlin, how did she do this to him?

"Malfoy," he hissed, "what the fuck do I do if she says no?"

Malfoy thought for a moment, and then shrugged. "Not sure. Nobody's ever said no to me."

Harry looked at him quickly, not exactly sure if he was being serious, and was relieved to see the grin playing around his lips. "Don't joke about this," he sighed. "What will I do?"

"I don't know, Harry," he said impatiently. "You're starting to sound like a broken record. The truth is, you're not going to know until you ask, are you?"

Again, it was true, and Harry fell into silence once more. He watched each of the graduates take the stage to shake hands with McGonagall (the Headmistress), and then their Head of House – Gryffindor's replacement for McGonagall, incidentally, being Nearly Headless Nick (the second ghost to find regular employment at Hogwarts, and the first to enjoy it so immensely). 

Ginny was second to last, as a Weasley. She was wearing faded black robes, and when McGonagall took her hand, she burst into such a bright smile that his nerves rose up into his throat and threatened to choke him. She looked very beautiful at that moment, and along with his nerves, there was a wild, uplifting pride.   

What if she said no?

He had to ask. 

~

"'Ello 'Arry!" Fred said delightedly, in a broad Cockney accent. The ceremony was over, but the twins had accosted him before he made it halfway across the room. He could just see Ginny over George's shoulder, talking animatedly to Professor Flitwick. 

"My, my," George said, admiring Harry's robes. "Don't we look spiffing?"

"Thanks," he said. Where was she now? Wait – there, talking to her friend. Harry, to his embarrassment, could never remember her name. Jenny? Justine?

"Oi," Fred interrupted, snapping his fingers at him. "Over here."

"Sorry," said Harry, shaking his head briefly, as though to clear it. "Where's your mum?"

"She couldn't come," George replied. "She sent us in her place."

"You?"

Fred raised his hands in a 'search me' kind of gesture. 

"Bill's still in France with Fleur and the baby, Charlie's trapped in some cave in India –"

"Indonesia," George cut in. 

"Well, Ind-something. And Mum and Dad are at a Ministry dinner. Very important, she said. Impossible to get out of. She was fuming. But she wanted us to be here, so Gin'd have someone to cheer – along with you, naturally."

"Naturally," Harry agreed. He hadn't heard most of this. His pulse was pounding. "Well, nice to see you …"

"Fobbing us off?" George demanded indignantly, but Fred put a hand on his arm. 

"He wants to talk to his girlfriend," he said. "Look at his face. You know, I think he might just hit one of us if we don't get out of the way. Which one, Harry, me or George? I'd suggest George. His meat's more tender."

"Don't be ridiculous," Harry said gratingly. "I don't want to hit you." He paused. "Maybe you, Fred."

"I resent that. That cuts right to the quick." But he and George did step aside, grinning. "That's alright. We'll check out the buffet."

"Excellent," agreed George, and, to his relief, they were soon gone. 

Ginny was standing with somebody else now, a tall, good-looking boy whom Harry immediately wished to send away. The boy hugged her – OK, now Harry wanted to hurt him. Ginny hugged him back and then, spotting Harry, said some kind of goodbye, and came towards him.

"Hello," she said, reaching him, and putting her hands behind her back. "What do you think?"

He looked at her from head to toe, glad that, for the moment, he did not have to talk. 

"You're wonderful," he said eventually, softly. "Congratulations."

Impulsively, she put her arms around his neck and held him. They usually tried to avoid displays of affection in public. There was no official rule about assistants and students having relationships, but Harry was pretty sure it wouldn't be applauded. The two of them kept things quiet in general – but she was done with school now, and this, hugging her in public … it was nice. Really nice. 

"I like this," he said into her neck. 

"Mm," she replied. 

"You're all finished."

"I know."

She dropped her arms and straightened his robes, which were hooked slightly to one side. 

"I felt like an idiot up there," she continued. "Everybody staring. And Fred and George kept crossing their eyes at me. Honestly, sometimes I think that they might really be four years old, and just abnormally tall for their age –"

"Can we go somewhere?" Harry interrupted. 

"Sure," she said, rather surprised. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," he assured her. "I just – want to talk."

"But nothing's wrong?"

"No," he said definitely. "Nothing's wrong."

"Alright," she agreed, rather bemused, but her friend – the one with the damned elusive first name – chose this moment to return. "Hey," the girl said, tapping Ginny on the shoulder. "Oh. Hi, Harry."

During class, he was Mr Potter. But, uncomfortable with this formality from students only a year younger than him, he'd asked that they all call him Harry when he wasn't carrying out his assistant's duties. 

"Er – hi Julie," he hazarded. 

The girl looked immediately affronted, and Ginny widened her eyes at him. 

"This is Jenny, remember?" she said. 

Dammit. That was his first guess. 

"Sorry," he said helplessly. "I'm crap when it comes to names."

"He is," Ginny assured the girl, who still looked a bit put-out.

"That's alright," she said stiffly. "You want to eat, Gin?"

No, insisted inner monologue. 

Ginny looked at him, and then back to her friend. "No," she said apologetically. "I'll get something later."

Jenny nodded and walked briskly away. Ginny slapped him hard on the arm. 

"I don't believe you sometimes!" she said, but she was laughing. 

He couldn't take this one second longer.

"Ginny," he said lowly, "we need to talk. Now. OK?"

She said nothing for a moment, clearly taken aback by his intensity, but then nodded quickly. "OK," she said. "Let's go."

~

Ginny followed him back to his quarters, on the third floor. The walk seemed interminably long for Harry, and he was so distracted that he would have gone the wrong way if Ginny hadn't directed him at a crucial point. 

When finally they reached his door, he muttered an Alohamora, and then let her enter ahead of him. He shut the door behind himself – and then stood facing it, trying to work up a bit of courage. He put his hand in his pocket, making sure the gold band was still there. 

"Harry?" Ginny said uncertainly. He turned. She was standing at the foot of his bed, head tilted to one side. "What is this?"

"Ah –" 

For God's sake, speak, hissed inner monologue, but there were no words at all. 

"Something is wrong, isn't it?" she said, her face draining of colour. 

"No!" He almost shouted it, finding voice at the sight of her anxiety. 

"Well, what then?"

"I – OK." He came forward two steps, then stopped. "Right. I'm sorry. I just don't know how to say it."

She was frowning now. "Harry," she said quietly. "Are you breaking up with me?"

"Jesus, no! I mean – Merlin, Ginny, will you stop putting words in my mouth?"

"Well why don't you talk to me, then?" she retorted angrily. "What the hell are you trying to say?"

"I don't know."

"If you don't know, what are we doing here?"

"Oh, for Merlin's sake."

"What's the matter with you?"

"Marry me," he blurted. 

She closed her mouth abruptly, and stared at him. Harry swallowed. He could feel the blood throbbing in his head. He went a bit closer to her, and then, almost involuntarily, sunk down on one knee. 

"Marry me," he said again, and fumbled in his pocket to find the ring. He held it out to her. "Please."  
Ginny covered her mouth with her hands and went on staring at him. He went on holding the ring out to her, his knee hurting, his heart beating too hard. 

"Harry," she said shakily. "Get up."

Now his heart stopped. 

Get up? Is that a no? Is that a 'get up and stop asking'?

And then she dropped her hands, and she was smiling a huge smile, and there were tears in her eyes. 

"Stop being such an idiot and get up," she said, almost sobbing, and he did so. 

"Are you saying yes?" he asked, feeling that lump in his throat again.

She nodded, half-laughing, half-crying. Relief and a kind of wonder swept through him. He took her left hand.

"Which finger is it again?" he said, grinning, trembling, unable to believe this. 

She grinned back through tears. "Fourth."

He slipped it on, and she looked it at it for a moment, before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him hard. He kissed her back, overwhelmed, and touched her hair. 

"This is the craziest thing that's ever happened to me," he said quietly. 

"Not people from a diary coming to life?" she murmured, pulling her lips away from his. "Not fighting the Dark Lord?"

"Nope," he said, half-smiling. "This is much, much crazier. I love you."

"I love you."

They went on smiling at one another. 

"We're getting married before Ron and 'Mione," Ginny pointed out eventually. 

"I know. Who would have thought?"

"Have you told them?"

"'Course not," Harry said. "I didn't even know if you'd say yes."

She touched his chin. "How could you not be sure?" she said quietly, and just hearing that made him want to kiss her again. He remembered he could. He did. 

There was a sharp rapping on Harry's door, and then it clicked suddenly open. It was the twins, and they had their eyes shut. 

"If you're shagging –" Fred began. 

"Very quietly shagging," muttered George. 

" – then please send us out." 

"Merlin! There are no limits with you two, are there?" Ginny said, trying to sound stern, but laughing despite herself.

Both, cautiously, opened their eyes. 

Fred took one look at Ginny in Harry's arms, and the tears on her face, and turned to his twin. They broke into identical wide grins. 

"We were just going to let you know that dinner's on," said Fred. 

"But now that we're here," added George, "we've got dibs on being Best Men."

Still grinning, they backed out, quietly shutting the door. 

"Well," Harry said. "They sure know how to spoil a moment."

"What's spoilt?" she answered softly. "Everything seems pretty good to me."

  
He looked at her for a long moment, and then raised her hand to kiss it, and kiss the little ring on her finger. 

It all seemed pretty good to him too. 

 ~

A Word

Well. Whew. There you go. I hope it meets with your approval, as it took some time to put this last chapter together. It feels weird to be finished – my first fic, done and done, and boy am I exhausted!! Now (as a certain loyal reviewer suggested) I'm going to have a nice rest, and then, I guess, start up another one. Got any suggestions, lovely readers? I'm stumped at present, but that might also be because my head's too full of Harry and Ginny to think. :-)

I wanted to let you know that for the past couple of weeks (only that long? Jeez, it seems forever since I started this!), the best part of my morning has been reading your reviews. They've been so nice and helpful and sweet and encouraging (aww – you guys!), and believe me, did not go unappreciated. Thank you, particularly those of you who took the time to review my every little chapter.

With much love, many thanks and – but not for the last time – ~no more 3x5s~ …

Shez XXOO

PS – OK Trav, will email if the need arises. Thanks esp. for your last review, it put me in a happy happy mood. Cheers and cheerio. Same goes to all the old faithfuls (you know who you are – yes, Smidget, count yourself among them *grin*)… Your reviews gave me so many smiles from the beginning. I keep thankin' you, but you guys deserve it. 

PPS – Hey Meegs! You spotted my John shout-out! I hoped you would hehe! What can I say, I'm the master (and modest too) … see you soon, Mrs W-McG-M …


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